


Running Home *****CURRENTLY UNDER EDIT*****

by kaisoochateau



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: All of EXO Dealing With Their Powers, And By Slow I Mean Glacial, Ballet Dancer Jongin, Drama, Farmer Boy Kyungsoo Who Talks To Plants, First Love, Fluff and Angst, How Do They Work? No One Knows But Me, M/M, MAMA!AU, Modern Day Seoul, Pining, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Superpowers, Teenage Angst aka Jongin's Identity Crisis at 19, Very Dramatic Pining, powers!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 125,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaisoochateau/pseuds/kaisoochateau
Summary: *****FIC IS BEING EDITED PLS DON'T READ******Aspiring ballet dancer Jongin has big plans for his future, of traveling across the world and performing on the largest stages, but it only takes an instant for those dreams to all break down on him.Left with a power that he can’t control and problems he can only run from, Jongin has never been more lost- until he meets Kyungsoo, the boy in the forest.Together, they start on a search to find the others like them, trying to figure out where everything went wrong.





	1. Prologue: Sans Musique

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO, IMPORTANT PSA!! If you've clicked on this fic then thank you so much for being interested in my story!! BUT because I'm currently editing it I hope you can wait a bit longer before you start reading it/reread it!! I'm hoping by the end of 2018 I have completed this fic, and then everyone who read it before will unfortunately have to reread it from the beginning because of all the changes I've made to scenes + details I've added in uwu  
> Thank you for everyone for being so patient, I promise it'll be worth it and I love you guys! <3
> 
>  
> 
> pairings: kai/d.o, chanyeol/sehun  
> genre: slice of life, powers!au,  
> rating: m (for dark themes, sexual references)  
> warnings: a full list of warnings will be up soon
> 
> note: any links in the fic lead to music or examples of ballet variations

 

 

A heavy silence is trapped in the dance studio.

It echoes from white wall to white wall, from gray floor to high ceiling, binding Jongin in place as the room’s centerpiece.

Behind him, the beige curtains have been drawn open to the view of uptown Seocho, all the building blocks balanced precariously tall and shutting out the afternoon sky.

His coach has his back turned, hunched over his phone, also frozen, and the only movement that betrays the photo is the tops of the trees from the street below. They peak over the outside railing, swaying in the ripples of summer heat, while the air trying to claw its way out of Jongin’s lungs is lukewarm, slowly drying the layer of sweat that makes his t-shirt stick to his pounding chest.

After six hours of practice and one of sleep, Jongin can feel his body starting to wear down, the Advils he took in the last break only churning in his hollow stomach. Now, just holding fourth position makes him ache, and the strain from keeping his core tensed, his feet positioned apart, one hand curved to the bright lamps overhead, stings like acid.

But he has too much to prove and no time left to do it, not when the clock above the barre is mocking him for a whole morning wasted on searing stretches and poor performances. So Jongin waits, holding his head high, his stance firm, staying as strictly poised as the statue he faces in the mirror, staring at it intently to keep the fog from seeping into the corners of his vision.

All year, day by day, he’s watched out of bitter habit as his reflection has grown leaner and firmer, carved down from rigid training and discipline. But Jongin’s eyes cut deeper than ever right now, all the way through to the bone, and the dips in between his muscles are nowhere near as sharp as he needed, nothing like the image he has plastered in his mind of Taemin last June.

It’s too late for him to do anything about it, though-

“Okay, sorry about that. Boss is cracking down on us,” Hyukjae sighs out, his voice instantly hardening as he turns and paces to the edge of the room. “We can only squeeze in one more run-through before she kills me, alright?” Jongin doesn’t move or answer him, just swallows past his dry throat, aching to start. “I know you’ve gotta be tired, but I want you to concentrate on getting every move perfect this time. Ready-” Finally, Jongin lets himself empty out his breath, his limbs locked in further. “And four, three, two, go.”

On cue, he glides forward, slotting straight into the familiar variation.

Each small shift of his clothing grates against the quiet, each carefully timed exhale rushing out too loud in the wide space, his calm expression already showing cracks.

He switched the music player off hours ago, the noise too jarring for him to think through, and even Hyukjae has stopped counting, now. His attention is fixed only on Jongin, both of their gazes prickling hot on his skin and over his slim figure, peeling apart the most delicate motions.

This same sequence of steps has been etched into Jongin’s skull over the past months, always running through his thoughts in his spare few seconds or crawling into his dreams at night. But today, when it actually matters, after five months of full-time rehearsal and twelve years of ballet building up to tonight's performance, he can’t get a single thing right.

“Stop.” _God, already-_ Jongin’s knee locks up on command, one foot flexed in the air behind him. “Hold that _arabesque.”_

Pulse hammering in his ears, Jongin’s waist is already cramping, shaking from the pit of his abdomen as he struggles to keep his legs straight. He has his teeth gritted and his gaze down, hidden by his black fringe as Hyukjae marches over from the barre, dress shoes clicking along the linoleum floor.

“Your hip has to be turned in,” his coach instructs, a firm grip on Jongin’s thigh twisting so that the fire shoots red-hot up his spine- “Otherwise your whole back looks out of line.”

Jongin gives a curt nod, his eyes squeezed shut so none of the pain can show through, not letting himself even inhale until his leg is released.

“Better. Keep going,” Hyukjae states quietly, and he steps back.

Slowly lowering back to the ground, there's a tight pressure left clamped around his muscles, and the familiar feeling of the tendons in his side being wringed apart, all the way to the base of his spine. Jongin’s been fighting it off all week, and he knows it can only get worse from here.

But still, he straightens his core, jaw set and arms floating light as he resumes his count.

The four beats after the _arabesque_ lead straight into a series of _pirouettes,_ Jongin’s eyes fixed on his reflection that he snaps his neck back to after every turn, desperate to grasp onto his solo’s character, again, to get lost in the narrative and not the pangs through his body.

As he flicks his left leg out into  _à la seconde,_ his sight spots red and makes his breath hitch, but Jongin refuses to falter through the last few twirls. As he leans back to a stop, the weight digging into his hip is too stiff for him to hold his smile steady, needing to drop it for a split second before he can stretch it thin over his chapped lips.

With a flourish of his hand, Jongin has no beats to waste in between, and he prances to the side, flitting in circles around an invisible partner that will finally dance with him. His mind is fading faster than he can catch, though, tumbled out of reach and dragging the rest of him even further down. He can’t pick up enough speed to stop his slippers from grazing, not even halfway through the routine yet, and his gut lurches.

On tempo, he jumps and slides to a stop on one unsteady knee, an arm reaching to caress humid air, just as his lover is meant to slip out from beneath his fingertips. Mouth dropped open in shock, Jongin whips his head around until it fixes on the other wall where she reappears, and he fakes a relieved grin.

Standing on sore soles, the dread heavy in his bones, he starts to race across the room, its length a fraction of tonight’s stage. The space surges as it closes in on him, making him hesitate before his _jetés-_ overshooting the distance when he leaps into the splits and wrenches his waist apart once, twice-

“Toes pointed more,” his coach instructs, Jongin barely hearing over the impact of a jolted landing- and he forces his throbbing feet to leap off the ground one last time, a beat behind- “Okay, let’s stop here.”

Flipping back, Jongin can’t- stumbling into his first _déboulé_ and twirling so fast across the floor that his balance scatters away- falling blind-

“I said stop-”

Almost there- he’s almost spun into the second act- air biting at his wild eyes, chafing his hoarse throat in his rush to get there-

“Jongin!” Hyukjae calls out, a stern warning- and Jongin screeches to a halt centerstage, lungs collapsing wide open around him.

Trembling hands coming to rest on his thighs, his heartbeat is deafeningly loud in the silent room, and Jongin is clinging to his last energy to not keel over and gasp for oxygen, his breath coming in short, quiet pants.

“That’s enough, now,” Hyukjae says, more gently, voice drowned out by the fire let loose through Jongin’s veins.

He burns from the bottom up- as if he’s worn through his ballet shoes and into the flesh, having to swallow down the bile that claws its way out of his thrashing chest. Forcing his gaze ahead, through his damp fringe, he has to check that his expression doesn’t give anything away, blinking the red stains from his vision.

In the mirror, the breakouts on his cheeks glisten, his shirt soaked through with the same sweat that raises goosebumps on his chilled skin. His insides are boiling over, though, and the thick air sends another urge through Jongin to heave up his empty stomach.

But what rips him into shreds as he stays still is the shame- the shame of failure that blares in his mind like sirens, like Taemin’s uncontrolled peels of laughter- louder than he can think.

He waits there, the pains through his body fading too soon, clenching to the twisted nerves in his waist, and prays for Hyukjae to drive the knife back in deeper. Except that Hyukjae chooses now of all times to be gentle, his words laced with a pity that tears through Jongin worse than anything else could have.

“You’re overthinking it,” Hyukjae offers, and Jongin chokes back a bitter huff, nails digging into his tights until he can feel it. “Look, I already know that you can do this routine perfectly. You proved all of my doubts about that wrong last week.” The encouragements only echo through Jongin’s ringing ears, hollow, meaningless, his mouth left tasting like metal.

“Then what’s been going on? You sure the physio didn’t say anything?” Hyukjae checks again.

It’s the third time that he’s asked since Jongin was meant to go on Monday, and his side throbs in response, fingers curling harsher. Between Hyukjae’s and his parents’s questions, Jongin’s lies are fraying, and he can only give a curt nod, still avoiding Hyukjae’s reflection.

“So you’re just shitting yourself, aren’t you?”

No- Jongin’s losing before he’s even started, only a pathetic glint cast in the overbearing shadow that hangs over this studio, like Taemin’s always watching him, taunting everything he gets wrong.

With a soft sigh, Hyukjae marches over, cutting across Jongin’s venomous gaze and making him automatically straighten.

“Yeah, of course you are,” Hyukjae murmurs, stopping to hold onto Jongin’s shoulder, whose stare flinches down, lungs stiffening. He isn’t used to this from Hyukjae- touches that are meant to be comforting and not correcting, but he resists the urge to jerk away.

“You aren’t going to get a second chance at Juilliard, so you better get your head straight before tonight, got it?” Fists clenching at his thighs, of course Jongin knows that, as if he could forget. Everything hinges on this solo variation, on the two minute routine that he has to get perfect. “Now before I go, I want you to tell me again how much you want this.”

“More than anything,” Jongin whispers out, lungs too weak to raise his voice or release his breath.

“No,” Hyukjae snaps and tugs Jongin back, a sharp knife dug into his spine. ”Look at me and answer properly. How much do you want this?”

Their eyes meeting in the mirror, Jongin can feel the determination set in Hyukjae’s face, and it burns as fiercely as the turmoil in his stomach.

There are too many onlookers, too many expectations weighing down on him, the confidence of his parents alone paralyzing him. All the money they’ve invested into Jongin is a heavy enough debt to bury him alive, and he has to do whatever it takes to repay them.

That means impressing the scout to get through to the live auditions, winning the scholarship to afford tuition, graduating from the four-year degree so that he can join a national company, and then working his way from the corps to principal dancer as fast as possible.

That’s the moment that he’s been dreaming about from when he was six years old and just starting out, to planning for it ever since they moved up to Seoul at 12 for Jongin to study and attend the national academy. Seven years later, having graduated from high school in February, he’s already started to repack his things in secret, because the thought of leaving everything behind is less terrifying than the thought of failing.

He can’t even let himself think of what happens then.

“I-” Jongin rasps out, before clearing his throat, his reflection pained.

He has no other choice, and he knows it-

“I need this,” he whispers, vocal chords worn thin enough to snap.

“Exactly. Hold onto that passion,” Hyukjae states, patting Jongin once firmly before his arm drops. Jongin still doesn’t let himself exhale, though, not even when Hyukjae pulls his phone back out. “And stop stressing yourself out, man. You gotta have a decent meal and relax- take a nap, even. And talk to someone about it, like Taemin. He knows what you’re going through.” The casual mention lurches at Jongin’s chest, raising a storm of acid-

“Oh, crap,” Hyukjae hisses to himself, and Jongin digs into his bottom lip, teeth catching on the cracks. “Qian needs help calming down her beginning class, and Ms. Kang still wants me doing a thousand other things. Shit... I’m probably not going to see you ‘til we’re all backstage after the show. You’ll be alright, yeah?”

Jongin gives a curt nod, ripping the skin off too harshly and having to loosen his jaw.

He should have expected that. No matter how much he charges per hour, Hyukjae is still a ballet master before he’s Jongin’s personal coach or a makeshift manager, and this is just another academy showcase for him, the same as every other year. Jongin just gives him a curt nod, pulling at the skin too hard and drawing blood.

“Y’know,” Hyukjae starts, glancing at him in the mirror, a slowed lilt to his voice that Jongin already recognizes. “She’ll be watching you tonight.”

Not only the company director, but everyone else from the Korean National Ballet will be in the audience: the teachers, choreographers, and soloists that Jongin bows to in the halls and hears hushed praises from as he walks away. Hyukjae has assured him he’d have a place if he waited around for this year’s auditions, but no matter how confident Hyukjae is, Jongin’s heart is set.

“Dammit, I don’t know why I even bother,” Hyukjae chuckles out, shaking his head before he starts to walk off, a panic rising in Jongin. “You’re a stubborn kid, that’s for sure,” he states, and Jongin is frozen in place- desperate to call out- “Let’s just hope it pays off, huh?”

Before Hyukjae can push open the door and leave, the fears inside Jongin come crashing out, forced past the cage around his mouth.

“Do you think I can do it?” he asks, words strangled to only a whisper.

Hyukjae stills in the mirror, and the room is silent except for the question pounding in Jongin’s ears,

“It doesn’t matter what I think. You tell me if you belong in that top 12,” Hyukjae says bluntly, but Jongin is welded shut, again, lips pressed tight so nothing else escapes. “Okay, look at it this way- just based on your resume, a scout wanted to come halfway around the world to see you perform. When they hear about someone with that many prizes, they want them in their program.”

But that means nothing when they wanted Taemin first, and he turned them down. Taemin: the one who made it to the finals of the _Prix de Lausanne_ , the two-time winner of the Korea International Dance Competition, the one that articles call ‘the next Kim Kimin’. Comparing that to Jongin, who could only win the prejunior category in the year that Taemin moved up, and hasn't placed in anything he's entered over the past two years, even if Taemin couldn't afford to contend against him - it makes Jongin’s chest seethe.

“You’ve got a massive advantage on all those other kids, so don’t let that go to waste,” Hyukjae continues, his words only chilling over Jongin’s fevered skin. “Ace your variation, ace your _pas de quatre,_ and ace your interview tomorrow. If you remember everything that I’ve taught you, then you’ll be fine.” But it still doesn’t answer him- doesn’t give any relief to his aching heart- and he squeezes his eyes shut in defeat.

“Now, Jongin- please… Just go home.”

The sound of the wooden door being shut echoes, trapped with Jongin in the dark, and he lets his head hang. The last hinge in him is rattling, threatening to buckle and send him stumbling to the cold floor, but he can’t let it, not yet-

Heaving in a breath that scrapes along the sides of his throat, Jongin braces himself and squints up at the clock, blinking through the sting until he can read numbers. The hands have crossed past 2.30, too many minutes slipped away from him to afford a second more, and his gaze turns back to his reflection.

Left alone, Jongin stands face to face with the only constant company that he’s had all year, in the empty studio that’s become more familiar to him than his family’s own cramped apartment. Eyes burning with a new anger, he pulls the strings in the mirror, mechanically setting himself back into position and ignoring the twinge in his waist.

If Taemin practiced four hours on his last day, then Jongin will do eight, until the very last second before the dress rehearsal begins and he has to sprint to make it to the Opera House. Even then, Jongin knows he can’t hope to beat Taemin in technique, not when his performance of the _Sleeping Beauty_ variation was so close to flawless that he was offered a full scholarship without attending the auditions.

But Jongin has always been the best storyteller, judges and teachers both boasting about his acting being beyond his years, the emotions he can express so raw and intense, they say it can almost hurt to watch. That’s why this performance, self-choreographed with Hyukjae’s help, is its own original piece- a Romantic ballet split into two acts, both of them equally challenging. 

It’s ‘brilliantly daring’, as his coach had called it, ‘a masterpiece of emotion that you can’t tear your eyes from, that leaves you on the edge of your seat until the final seconds’.

The steps are carved into his memory, and now, Jongin just needs to focus on bringing the emotions to life- the fairytale love before the unbearable heartbreak. He has to strip back the flesh of this solo and reveal the bones, to bleed the character into his veins until it’s the only pain that he feels.

His limbs are leaden, tearing apart at the seams, fire scalding the soles of his feet, flaring white-hot through his body- and Jongin restarts the four-beat count.

This is his one chance, the life that he craves so desperately at the tip of his curled fingers, almost in his reach-

This is his story to tell.

 

 


	2. Acte I - 1. Le danseur: Allegro molto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short clips to help you imagine Jongin's Sibelius choreo: [First half](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=St2yCC99EsA) | [Second half ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFXC5oBKS2Q)

 

**△**

 

Offstage, everything moves around Jongin in a blur.

The other dancers are racing back and forth with no rhythm, a flurry of bright costumes against the dark backdrop, while stagehands and directors yell out orders that clash over the cheerful music.

Everyone is frantic, all trying to pull it together for the closing performance- but as he paces in tight circles, the chaos parted to avoid him, Jongin is entirely alone.

The voices barely reach him over the blood that pounds behind his ears, his vision swimming in and out of focus every time he blinks under the dimmed lights, breaths shallow and barely scraping his lungs.

Beyond the red curtain, _Tchaikovsky’s Pas de Deux_ is quickening along the piano keys, resonating louder as the piece rushes to an end- and Jongin’s up next- the pressure closing down on his temples like a vice, each clang of notes hammering into his pulse- driving him to move faster and faster-

Jolted to a stop, Jongin leans down with a harsh sigh, hands grabbing at his thighs as his waist twinges in protest.

He’s no stranger to stage fright. After years of competitions and auditions, he knows exactly what to expect: the knots tied in his stomach, the soft tremor in his limbs. But it’s never felt anything like _this-_ like the weight on his shoulders might actually crush him alive before his routine has even started. Like no matter how many times he thumps his fist to his heart, he can’t break apart the stone that’s cemented in his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Gritting his teeth together, Jongin has had no time all day- no time to properly _think-_  and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for this- if he should have tried praying to God for the first time in years- if that would make any difference-

It’s too late, though- the final chords struck and Jongin snapping up so fast that his head reels, a white fog blinding him as he rushes over to his waiting position.

Hand on the last wall he can grip to steady himself, the applause runs cold through his veins, his insides lurching, breaths crashing over each other. He can only just make out the two senior-class dancers exiting to the left, the piano wheeled off after them marking his cue-

There isn’t a second to think before he’s out in the open, a plastic smile on his face. Well-trained steps carry him smoothly across the wooden floor, having to rely on his memory when the sharp brightness stings his eyes shut. Blinking through the film of acid, Jongin takes his place at the center of the stage and bows, the announcer’s words on the overhead speakers lost to him.

When he straightens up, his sight finally comes into focus, and he’s left to stare out at the overwhelming world ahead of him, the cracks splitting underneath his lipgloss.

Even with the back of the theatre hidden in shadows, he can see that the audience is huge, with rows spiralling up to the high ceilings that he’s sat in before, and for one bone-chilling moment, Jongin is completely frozen.

The only other time he’s performed here was when he was just seven years old, as a hopeful boy from Cheongju who somehow made it through the grueling auditions, whose dreams were coming true when he was being driven up to Seoul three times a week to practice with the national academy.

But now, twelve years later, the room looks impossibly larger, the pressure unbearably heavier, and Jongin feels too small for it, standing here alone and not as part of a corps of other kids, with everyone watching only _him-_

Suddenly- heart clenching in his dry throat- everything falls quiet, his ears ringing on one suspended tone, and he tries to swallow, the action searing.

[This is it-](https://youtu.be/FAFouzo3ZHQ) his one chance to prove himself to them all, and the realization sparks a burst of adrenaline in Jongin’s chest, sending shockwaves through his hollow body.

With cruel determination, Jongin sets his jaw and turns his feet to fourth position, raising an arm to let the sleeve of his loose, cotton shirt fall below his elbow. His legs are shaking, threatening to break under him, but he locks them into place, tensing the muscles so firmly it hurts-

He’s never wanted anything so much, every fibre of him aching for it, and he will not allow himself to get even the smallest detail wrong-

A short inhale, and the first note of _Sibelius’s Fifth Symphony_ rings out through the auditorium, pure and deafening, and Jongin starts to dance.

With featherlight movements, he floats forward, arms delicately poised, feet balancing each carefully timed glide across the wide stage.

Out here, underneath the spotlight, the air is warm and gentle, and Jongin finds his place in the choreo seamlessly, letting it take hold and guide him. The pang in his waist ignored, he can feel the last of the stiffness wash away from his tired muscles, his mind wiped clear until it’s just the music track and his open heart, bared for all to see.

Through the flutterings of flutes and the elegant pirouettes, Jongin is a young ballet dancer falling in love. Every motion is innocent, every expression bashful as he tries to win the attention of the beautiful girl who has stolen him away for the first time.

He pictures his lover in front of him, the blackened room and the red curtain swept back to reveal a village square, where she finally turns to face him. With a breathless grin, he can almost reach out and touch the fair skin that he’s been longing for, but instead, his fingers brush over dark strands of hair, watching them flow in the wind as she flounces away. Playfully, she stops to beckon to him, and Jongin laughs before flitting after her. Wherever she goes, he follows, just for the chance to catch one of those rare smiles, for a glimpse into those eyes that hold more mysteries than he can ever unravel-

But he’s always a step behind, his jumps always landing a little short- and time is escaping him faster than he can keep up with, tearing her away from his outstretched hand. In a whirlwind of _d_ _é_ _boul_ _é_ _s,_ he sees a flicker of pain in her stare before he loses sight of her, and he screeches to a stop. Panicking- he throws himself into dizzying circles, gaze jerking every direction to try and find her, again.

His movements are losing all precision in his haste, leaps ripping through the air desperately as he searches far and wide through a world that’s now clouded with darkness, looking for any trace of her, any hope at all-

There’s nothing, though, no matter how far from home he travels, no matter how lost he becomes, and his sanity is being torn to shreds with the sleepless nights and the disappearing days. His thoughts of her consume him whole, and every second of living is pure, agonizing torture, the memory of her a constant stabbing in his side, the unanswered questions she left behind clawing throughout his entire body-

He’s out of control- looking back to realize everything in his path is destroyed, up in flames, and he flings himself into high _cabrioles_ to try and escape the fire crawling up his body-

But he only lands back on blistering coals, his mind screeching too loud, too sinister- long past the point of saving, nothing left to hold onto-

Throwing himself straight over the edge, he plants his weight on one foot and twists into a series of frantic spins, leg striking out and in at lightning speed to gather up momentum, head whipping on each turn to face the black emptiness that awaits him.

He’s rushing to meet the ending- hurtling through _fouetté_ after _fouetté_ after _fouetté_ as his waist sears white-hot- burning up alive- the roaring of the storm drowning out the final crash of the symphony-

Fallen to one knee- his pulse deafening, lungs burst open, Jongin finally looks up. Drenched hair falling into his gaze, he’s back in the auditorium, in front of the barely lit crowd rippling with claps and cheers for him.

But he isn’t finished, yet. Fighting down the corners of his panting mouth, Jongin dips his head back, placing a hand on his clothed neck to untie the string around his collar. His shirt slips open easily, revealing the red mark stained on his pounding chest.

And then he doubles over- arms collapsed to the cold wood as the last few notes fade out, and the lights finally dim over his hunched form.

From a broken heart, the dancer dies.

Loud enough to rival his rushing blood, the applause thunders throughout the theatre, and in the darkness, Jongin can’t help the grin that spreads over his lips. Slowly, he stands back up on weak legs and softly prances off the stage, knowing just from the way his waist flares, from how the two minutes flew by, that this was his best performance.

Once he’s out of sight, Jongin stumbles straight into a jog to get behind the stage and back to his things, dodging jittery kids on his way to the rehearsal room. He doesn’t have a second to pause and enjoy this triumphant feeling, but as he sprints fast enough to feel weightless, the beam is still stuck to his face, his limbs buzzing with an electric high that only the stage can give him.

He doesn’t stop moving until he gets to their assigned rehearsal studio, full and bustling with people from his academy. Grabbing his duffel bag from the piles against the wall, he only throws a wave over his shoulder to his classmates’ calls, before pushing into the change room nextdoor. With everyone else already dressed for the final act and Jongin needing to swap from slippers to his pointe shoes, he has to be fast, immediately dumping his stuff next to the sink and pulling his shirt off. His throat is hoarse from gasping for air, but he’ll drink afterwards, hands trembling as he fishes out his black leotard and a gym towel, first.

Leaning into the mirror in front of him, Jongin pushes his damp hair back to inspect his skin under the fluorescent lighting. He’s flushed and shining with sweat, streaks of it running from under his black fringe and cutting through the thick layer of foundation he’d applied over his cheeks. With a sharp huff, he uses his fingers to try and hurriedly fix the lines, hoping his acne underneath didn’t show through while he was on stage.

The door groans open beside him, and Jongin glances over just as Sehun walks in with a giant grin on his face.

“Dude-” his friend starts, out of breath like he’d just come racing over. “That was insane!” Sehun must have snuck off from the other senior students if he managed to watch the performance, and the thought makes Jongin drop his gaze down in embarrassment.

“- I had no idea it would be that intense- and then that twist at the end, like- wow!” With a brief chuckle, Jongin turns away while Sehun keeps rambling, angled to the other wall so he can step into his leotard. “I mean, now I totally get why you kept it a secret from us for so long- it was just really... You were _amazing.”_

“I hope so,” is all Jongin says, voice wavering before he clears it and turns back to his reflection.

“Do you feel like you’ve got a good chance?” Sehun asks, genuinely curious.

Staring over himself intently, Jongin presses his lips together, refocused. He still needs a new coat of gloss and to wipe the smeared mascara from under his eyes, but the redness in his cheeks is bound to stay for the rest of the show.

“They won’t tell me anything until next week, so let’s not jinx it,” he replies, a bit too curtly as he digs through his bag for his makeup. “Plus there’s one more routine that I have to get through, first.”

“Don’t even worry about it, man,” Sehun assures. “You’ll nail it.”

Jongin does. The final act is a routine featuring every student from their school, and is a tribute to the introduction of ballet to South Korea, accompanied by traditional string instruments. The youngest toddlers start by performing _pli_ _és_ in their hanboks, with each group going further from the colorful dress, all the way up to the three girls beside Jongin, who proudly twirl in their classical tutus.

The four of them train as pre-professionals with the academy, some hoping to join the National Ballet in November, Jihyun hoping to go overseas like Jongin, and they wrap up the annual showcase with an energetic piano piece en pointe. Every one of them moves in perfect synchronization, and Jongin knows that he’s getting each step perfect, that he's keeping his balance just as flawlessly as the girls are, the grin on his face allowed in such a light-hearted dance.

As the soloists are called up for their final bows, Jongin skips to the center of the stage, and he can hear the clapping of the audience deepen as he bends down, the pain in his waist hushed to a familiar ache. Grinning ear to ear, Jongin stands tall and takes his place at the end of the line. This is his first chance to try and make out any familiar faces in the crowd, and he scans the front rows for his coach, hoping to catch a look at the American man that should be next to him. But it’s still too dark, no features recognizable, and before Jongin’s locked onto anything that can relieve the nausea building in his stomach, he’s being pulled by the hand into one last group bow as the cheers rain down on them.

The crowd quiets for Ms Kang to being her closing speech, and Jongin is the last dancer to exit the stage, lingering at the edge to give one more smile to the vast theatre. It slides off his face the second he’s behind the curtain, pulled down by new doubts, but before he can get lost in them, he’s being suffocated into the arms of all the other dancers. Everyone’s bubbling with energy, Sehun bragging over the top of them all about Jongin’s performance, and Jongin easily lets himself get swept up in it, until all he feels is the warmth of their hugs and the sincerness of their praise. He can’t even keep track of how many people congratulate him, the ‘thank you’s and ‘you too’s constantly falling off his lips, whether or not he saw their acts. These are the people he’s passed in the halls or shared classes with over the years, all of them practicing their variations for weeks on end, but the whole academy had known that this was _Jongin’s_ night.

Moments later, the whole rehearsal studio is lit up with bright faces, with the largest crowd circled around Jongin, laughing and chattering about how lucky they are to have known him before he ‘takes America by storm’. Normally, Jongin can’t handle this much attention when he’s not dancing, but right now, he feels so light, so ridiculously happy that he doesn’t even mind all the eyes fixed on him and the crazy ideas they’re throwing around. New York, Moscow, Paris- in this moment, Jongin feels like he could conquer them all.

And then they’re all turning around, conversations slit mid-sentence, and Jongin follows their gazes to see Hyukjae standing in the doorway.

One look at his coach’s face says it all, and Jongin’s heart plunges instantly.

“Jongin, come,” he says, his voice stark in the sudden hush over the air.

The others part out of the way for Jongin to walk through, and Hyukjae gives a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, extending an arm out to him.

Jongin doesn’t take it, but steps outside with him on shaky legs, the door shut behind him before hundreds of whispers can leak out. Led back the way they came, the growing echo over the speakers is muffled in Jongin’s ears, all blood drained from his veins and making him drag his feet.

Hyukjae stops them just shy of the stage, out of view and earshot before he rounds on Jongin. His coach doesn’t miss a beat, cutting straight to the point like he always does- and Jongin isn’t ready for the blow.

“Look, it’s not good news,” Hyukjae states, and Jongin tries to nod, tries to stop his entire body from shutting down on him. “The scout isn’t interested, he told me so himself. But, listen, there are still plenty of options-”

Jongin’s head is drowning underwater, his throat strangled shut and he can’t hear a single word Hyukjae says after that. There’s nothing but red curtain to catch him when his vision blacks out, knees faltering and he staggers- hands grasping at the velvet before he can hit the floor.

“Jongin- hey,” Hyukjae calls out, his voice gentle as he places a hand on Jongin’s trembling back, rubbing small circles into the fabric of his leotard. “It’s alright.” It’s not alright- _god,_ this is everything Jongin has worked for lost in _seconds-_ his breaths choked and wheezing- “C’mon, let me grab you a drink and we’ll sit down and talk through this, alright? I get that it’s devastating, I really do, but now we just need to think about how we’re gonna move on from here, yeah?” He pats Jongin on the back again, the pressure caving his shoulder blades further in, his whole body seething with pain- “It’s like I always tell you guys, how we bounce back from failure says more about us than how we bask in success. Jongin, I can _promise_ you that this isn’t the end of the world.”

Then why does it feel like Jongin’s about to explode from the knives stabbing repeatedly in his sides, from the ceiling that’s fallen and is crushing him into the ground, too heavy for him to clamber out from-

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Hyukjae promises, Jongin left gasping for air, drowning with no one to save him-

The abrupt eruption of applause shocks him awake, static quickly died down to the shuffling and movement of the crowd- and Jongin’s chest seizes shut. In minutes, they’ll all come looking for him, and there’s no way he can face his parents or anyone else right now- the thought making him want to vomit-

The only thing his body can do is lurch into a run, careening down the side of the stage, straight past the rehearsal room where laughter spills out, and when someone- Sehun- tries to grab him, Jongin yanks his hand away and doesn’t slow down at the call to wait.

All he can think through the tear-stained blur is that he needs a dance studio with the lights blacked out and his music blaring louder than he can think- their school just outside the opera house and across the courtyard. Sprinting from the dark theatre walls, shoes almost slipping on the short staircase he falters down- Jongin hurls himself onto the ground floor and through the carpeted lobby. He barely has time to cut in front of the crowd of watchers that are filing out the auditorium doors, desperate to get out of this maze before them.

But he’s losing sight of the way out- vision streaked red and a sob finally escapes from his body, rattling at the bones, and he feels so emptied out that he might actually collapse before he gets outside-

Sharply, he veers down the corridor where the bathrooms are, slamming past them to get into the staff toilet, and he fall to his knees into one of the cubicles.

Half gagging- Jongin clutches at the cold toilet, body wracked with unstoppable tremors and stomach convulsing. But he’s eaten nothing all day, and bile only sears at the back of his mouth, his wretches turning into strangled cries that play back at him mockingly.

Jongin’s lungs burn, eyes bleed, and his brain won’t _stop-_ thoughts spurring each other on to make him dig his forehead into the porcelain-

After everything he put into this- after he’d carved out his entire heart and soul for his routine, how could he have _ruined_ this for himself? How could he have tried his fucking hardest and still been so shit that they didn’t even consider him- how could he have embarrassed himself in front of _everyone?_ How could he disappoint his whole family after what they’ve gone through for him- what they sacrificed- all of it for nothing now? Jongin pulls- _hard-_ at fistfuls of his hair.

He’s never fucked up so badly in his entire life- no other failed audition or unimpressed critic even coming close- his bawls rising pathetically loud until he hears the door to the bathroom swing open, and he freezes.

“Nini?”

Teeth clamped into his raw lip to shut himself up, not even letting himself breathe, Jongin forces himself to turn around. It’s Taemin- leaning on the open door with formal clothes and a soft look on his bare face, and Jongin flinches away, a new surge of pain crashing through his body. Taemin is the _last_ person that he wants to see right now- but his friend is already crouching down next to him, and rests his back against the wall with a light sigh.

Sniffing harshly, Jongin wipes the water from underneath his eyes, his fingers smearing with black makeup that must look disgusting, now-

“Hey, man,” Taemin tries gently, Jongin ignoring the toilet paper Taemin rips off for him.

“Not interested,” he croaks out as unaffected as he can, through the words are still thick with regret.

Taemin should know exactly what he means, so Jongin doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence stretch out between them as he fumes, hands fisted to try and keep himself from shattering into more pieces.

Last year, their positions on the bathroom floor had been swapped, when Taemin had been so anxious that he’d actually vomited before his solo, and Jongin was there, rubbing his back. For whatever reason, he was the one person allowed to be by his friend’s side, then, during the only time he’s ever seen Taemin affected by anything. Five minutes later, he’d been back to normal, laughing and chatting with everyone before he’d gone on stage and flown through his solo like nothing had ever happened. He was offered a full scholarship the week after, just like everyone expected, just like they all thought Jongin would be-

And that’s why this is so much more humiliating, more _pitiful,_ and Jongin can't believe his friend took the night off work to see  _that-_ letting out another whimper before he can catch himself.

“I’m sorry,” Taemin says eventually, Jongin finally watching him in his blurred peripherals. “That must be-” He lets out a deep breath, shrugging as if he can’t find any other way to phrase it. “Really shit... I thought you were good.”

Jongin scoffs, heart twisting with the bitter urge to lash out at him, fighting down the urge. He doesn’t want Taemin to bother trying- he doesn’t want Taemin anywhere _near him_ at the moment- not when there’s no way he could understand what this feels like.

“It isn’t fair,” Jongin grits out, squeezing his stinging eyes shut and bringing his hands up to cover his face. It isn’t fair that Jongin’s given everything- that he’s trained harder, for longer, spending years of his life breaking his body in that studio. It isn’t fair that Jongin’s wanted this so _fucking much-_ and Taemin had turned it down like it meant nothing, just so he could stay with a girl-

“I know, man... I wish I could help out.” Taemin’s voice is filled with a gentless that has Jongin’s blood boiling, threatening to spill over until his friend rests a hand on his leg. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs, and that’s all it takes for Jongin’s anger to crack.

Once the first gasp has dug out of the cage around his chest, Jongin can’t stop the rest- sobbing and choking down air as he curls in on himself. He doesn’t have the strength left in him to push Taemin off, instead clutching onto the front of his buttoned shirt and hugging him closer.

Without a word, Taemin starts to stroke a hand across his quivering shoulders, while Jongin’s tears drench through the coarse fabric. All he can feel is the pain piercing between his ribs- like his insides are being torn into smaller and smaller shreds, and his wailing grows louder. The sound echoes off of the bathroom walls, drowning out everything else, and Jongin’s crying for what feels like forever- the waves of scalding water never stopping- until Taemin’s voice cuts in.

“Jongin- _Jongin.”_ The hold on his shoulder tightens urgently as Taemin shakes him, before pulling away and leaving Jongin cold, gripped onto nothing. “What the fuck- why are we here?”

Smothering back another cry, Jongin rubs at his swollen eyes to slowly try and pry them open. Blinking sorely for a moment, he can’t tell if they’re still closed or not, as if the lights have been turned off above them, and turning to look to the side- Jongin’s heart leaps into his throat- staggering away.

But it’s only his ghostly reflection staring back, and Jongin barely has time to be shocked by how sickly he looks before he hears Taemin swearing and has to face ahead. The yellow cubicle stall is gone, and now the two of them are pressed up against the mirrors of what Jongin can make out through his bleary vision to be a dance studio, enough light shining from the tall windows to reflect blue along the wooden floor.

“What the fuck is this?” Taemin hisses out, and Jongin has no idea what to say, his own mind completely blank. Not waiting for an answer, Taemin clambers to his feet, flapping a hand in front of Jongin’s stunned face. “C’mon, we’re getting the fuck out of-”

But the sound of a door clicking open silences him, followed by a single flashlight shining onto the opposite wall, and Jongin’s stomach drops.

“Is anybody there?” gets called out in deep English- before someone dressed in a dark uniform slowly steps into view, the dimness shining on half of a Western face.

His breath stuffed down, Jongin doesn’t dare move a muscle- Taemin half-bent and frozen beside him- but the light falls on them, anyway, blinding Jongin’s eyes before he can shield them.

“Hey, you two!” the man barks at them, and Jongin only has his hearing to rely on as he scrambles up after the squeak of Taemin’s shoes.

Grabbing onto the back of his friend’s shirt, Jongin stumbles with him, hearing Taemin burst through another door a second later. They crash into an unlit hallway, Jongin’s eyes refocusing so he can run on his own, leading the way down the rows of lockers as the man chases a few metres behind.

His lungs beating out of his chest, Jongin sprints through the endless maze of a building, skidding around corners and checking each of the English signs overhead for any sort of explanation. There’s only more names and numbers that mean nothing to him, though- no mention of an exit anywhere. He doesn’t even know if they’re still being followed, but Jongin doesn’t pause for even a second, pushing through the stitches in his waist, the blistering in his feet to keep moving.

Almost slipping over each other, they hurtle into a corridor made up of glass panels facing onto the street below, where the world outside is painted in a dull blue. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Jongin can see that the sky matches the color of the scrapers outside, and along the floor, the edges between shadows blurred. But it doesn’t make any sense when the showcase was supposed to finish at 9PM, and everything should be pitch black right now, but it’s almost as if the sun is _rising-_

Exclaiming, Taemin points a finger at the staircase ahead of them, and Jongin whips his gaze back before hurtling down it four steps at a time, his hand barely grazing the railing. They land right in front of a set of glass doors that they push out of and onto white pavement, Jongin jerking to a stop just after Taemin does, a second away from being crushed by the cars passing by. Doubling over as horns blare, Jongin grips his hands onto buckled knees and tries to slow down enough to get any of the cold, biting air into his lungs, dry mouth chafing with every gasp.

“Fuck, man-” Taemin pants out next to him. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Jongin can barely nod in agreement- his head and stomach both reeling, muscles worn through to the bone- and he’d do anything to just pass out on the gravel and never get up. But Taemin recovers faster than him, straightening back up a moment later, and Jongin has to force himself to do the same, despite the spots that take over his vision.

“Did that guy follow us?” Taemin asks, still breathless.

“I don’t know,” Jongin admits, wiping at the sweat that drips off his forehead. “I didn’t see.”

Taemin suddenly laughs, the sound high and piercing at Jongin’s ears. “What the actual _fuck_ is happening?” he sneers out, and Jongin follows Taemin’s gaze, looking back up at the building they’d just run laps around- and his legs almost crumple underneath him.

This must be a nightmare, a sick joke his mind is playing on him, because how else could they be right in front of the Juilliard School-

Shaking his head furiously, Jongin balls his fists into his hair and turns away from the letters that are burning into his eyes. How can this be happening- how can they be in front of a building in the heart of New York when they were just in Seoul a few moments ago- how can all the taxis that pass them be yellow, all the numberplates be wrong, every person he sees not be Korean-

No- _god,_ it can’t be real- Jongin’s throat clamping shut, breaths wheezing, hands rattling-

This has to be a nightmare, all of it, and there’s nothing Jongin can do except tear himself away, breaking into another desperate dash on limbs that are only being held together by the last thread. He hears Taemin call after him but only speeds up, careening down the sidewalk without slowing down to check the roads he crosses or to acknowledge the cars that beep at him.

Jongin runs harder than he’s ever run in his entire life, and he keeps squeezing his burning eyes shut, praying for the scenery to change when he opens them, praying to wake up and be in his bed and have hours until his performance and to not _fuck it up again-_

But everytime he looks, nothing’s changed, and he’s still bolting down the same street, passing gray building after gray building, and then billboard after billboard. The lights around him are getting brighter, the crowds growing larger until he’s swerving around countless people, loud noises and colors jabbing at his head. His whole body is on fire, breaking apart at the seams,  and begging him to stop, but he _can’t-_ not until he finally wakes up.

It isn’t until the screeching of tires and a sharp scrape of metal against his skin that Jongin comes crashing to a stop, colliding into something like a punch to the gut. Winded and choking, Jongin glances back, back at the street where he almost got run over, then down to the fire hydrant he just bashed into, the deep throb within his stomach dulled in the rest of his white-hot pain, and there’s no way a nightmare could hurt this much.

In slow motion, vision swimming, he lets his hands drop and his weight fall, further and further down until his knees collide with the pavement. His breaths are too shallow to feel, anymore, his skin covered in goosebumps, chills running hot through his veins, and Jongin just stays there, stilled in place.

“- Nini, fuck, why are you so fit?” a muffled voice says, far away in his ears. “And running in those pointes? Man, are you even human?” Taemin huffs out a light laugh. “Oi. Have you seen where we are?”

Numbly, Jongin lifts his head, eyes glazing over the world that’s painted in shades of orange by the risen sun. He looks around at all the flashing lights, the brand names and the moving pictures that extend up to the sky, at the craziness of the traffic and the unending stream of people dressed in suits and glittering dresses, the snippets of English business calls and the chatter about last night’s clubs washing through his head in waves.

It can only be Times Square, a place that Jongin’s been saving countless pictures of on his computer, in the same file as all his cover letters and references for Juilliard. This is the one place that he’s been dying to visit the most, to walk around by himself once he was finally settled in New York- the place that’s now nothing but an empty fantasy, every lively color and sound reminding him of what he never could have achieved.

“Awesome, right?” Taemin asks, grinning down from where he looms over Jongin. “Whatever that magic thing was, we gotta do it more often, man,” he states, and Jongin’s blood is sent boiling all over again.

“I want to go home,” Jongin grits out, his voice cracked and hoarse.

“Well, I ain't sure how we’re gonna do that,” Taemin jokes. “C’mon,” he says, hitting Jongin between the shoulder blades. “Let’s go and explore before some other crazy shit happens, like we get eaten by dragons or something.”

“No,” Jongin says firmly.

“What- seriously?” Taemin asks, before he crouches down to Jongin’s level. “How often do you get to go and visit New York City for free, huh?”

“Then go,” he snaps, Taemin’s smile slipping off from the glare Jongin shoots at him.

“Hey, man, I know you’re allergic to having fun, but even you’ve gotta admit that this is pretty fucking cool,” Taemin tries, keeping his tone light. But Jongin is so pissed off that he can even joke right now- that Taemin's having the time of his life when the sight of this city is pure _torture_ for him. “And sometimes you gotta forget about the bad crap you’ve got going on and make the most out of shit like this. Save the tears for back home, y’know?”

“Fuck you,” Jongin spits out with venom, so frustrated that his lips shake around the words. “I can’t just  _forget it-"_

“Woah, hold up-” Taemin cuts in, raising his volume back at Jongin. “You know I didn't mean it like that, okay? I'm just tryna get us to enjoy this-"

"But you don't know-" Jongin insists, hysteria rising- cracking him apart at the seams- "You'll never get what I'm feeling because you- you have  _everything-_  and the one thing that I want is- it's just ripped away-"

"Nini, c'mon-"

"No! Just leave me alone-" he shouts, jerking away from Taemin's outstretched hand. "Go have fun and don't worry about me.”

"Man, I’m sorry, alright? Can't we just-” And Taemin clasps onto Jongin’s arm just as the noises are silenced, the colors vanish- their world cloaked in dim lighting and Taemin stumbles back onto wooden planks.

“- what the fuck?” he gasps out, gaze darting between Jongin and his hand like he was just burned. “What did you just do!”

But Jongin doesn’t say a word, all of them stopped still. Through his pounding throat, he just takes in a silent breath, eyes glazing over the sight of the red, velvet curtains pulled shut in front of him, of the stage he’s sitting on- identical to the one he danced across what could have been years ago-

“Jongin!”

Their heads turn to see Jungah, Jongin’s sister, running towards them, the click of her heels echoing as Jongin’s parents follow closely behind. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she insists, but the relief on her face twists as she gets closer. “Oh my god- what happened to you?”

Pressing his hands into the floor for support, Jongin gets back on unstable feet and marches straight past her. Head kept down, he takes the duffle bag off his father’s shoulder without even a glance at him, starting to walk off before his mom speaks.

“Honey, wait.” She’s being soft and encouraging, like always, and Jongin grits his teeth together, his tightly-wound control threatening to unravel- “Hyukjae told us what happened, but we want you to know we’re still proud of you. No matter what, okay-”

“Stop-” Jongin mutters, before he clears his worn voice, eyes squeezing shut. “Can we just go?” he asks sharply, and he’s the first one to file off the side of the stage, unable to bear looking back at anyone’s reactions.

Keeping a fast pace, even with his legs threatening to collapse underneath him, Jongin walks back the way he’d gone running, before, not stopping until he’s out of the glass entrance.

In the humid air of Seoul, littered with the sounds of passing traffic, Jongin slows for one moment to stare up at the starless night. He can feel that something in his core has shifted, like his heart has been set off-center, and he shudders.

As he starts alone across the concrete stretch of courtyard, the weight of the entire sky seems to press down on his shoulders, now pitch black and unwelcoming.

 

 


	3. Acte I - 2. Scene: Moderato

  

△

 

Flashing lights beat through Jongin’s veins, overtaking his pulse as he runs-

Everywhere he turns, the sun glimmers as a thousand fragmented mirrors, a kaleidoscope of oranges blinding him in his desperate urge to escape.

Racing faster and faster, his muscles pound but he never moves forward, the panic rising as the ground starts to shake with each step, an entire glass city breaking apart around him, about to crash down-

With a blaring horn, Jongin starts awake, heart jammed in his throat and body drenched in cold sweat.

The noise from the street below echoes in his ears, and Jongin tries to swallow, a dryness scorching the back of his mouth. His weight is chained down to the bed, insides aching like they’ve been crushed flat, and Jongin rolls towards the window to ease the strain off his crippled side. He doesn’t feel any more rested than the last time he was jolted up, and he forces his eyes shut, yet, pulling the thin sheet over his bare torso with the determination to fall back asleep.

Relaxing his stiff face, Jongin measures his breaths out carefully, fighting off the pressure that’s building in his forehead.

But his mind is restless, images of neon signs dancing behind his closed lids, and the thrum of life outside their Bangbae-dong apartment is only getting more impossible for him to block out.

Frustrating crawling over his skin, Jongin flips onto his back with a harsh sigh, eyes winced open at the way it twists his waist.

As he blinks away spots of color, the shadowed ceiling comes into focus, just enough brightness seeping from the bottom of his blinds to make out the dullness of his room.

In the corner of his vision, the bedside clock reads 2:09PM in angry red lines, and he lets out a bitter sneer. The last time he saw, it was 9:18AM, and his mom was knocking on his locked door, pleading with him to get ready for his interview-

But Jongin can’t let himself think of that, brain already dragging up images he doesn’t want to remember-

Hands rubbing over his face, what he needs is _The Weeknd_ turned up to full volume, or anything that can keep him distracted for a bit longer. As he slowly sits up, Jongin’s whole body creaks with resistance, stomach panging with a dull hunger, and he hisses through clenched teeth.

His phone isn’t plugged in to charge, so it has to still be silenced somewhere in his gym bag, underneath the sweat-stained leotard and leggings he’d thrown on top. Standing, Jongin ignores the flare of his blistered feet to stumble along the wooden floor, then bending down to rummage for his iPhone and earpods. After he forces himself back up, his left side stinging from the chafe on his leg up to his hip- he briefly thinks about hanging his bag on the hook and throwing his clothes in the hamper, both habits he’s started to train himself into lately.

But there’s no point, anymore, and Jongin is fuming as he kicks the pile over, spilling everything onto the floor like how he used to leave his room. Collapsing back onto his bed, regret pulses through Jongin’s blood, fraying at his nerves. It had taken so much hard work to sort through all his belongings, and just last week, he’d spent sleepless nights organising his closet into two halves: things to put into storage and things to take with him. The unfolded cardboard boxes and suitcases on his top shelves will have to get put back into storage- but Jongin shakes that thought out of his throbbing head, shifting in agitation before he lights up his phone.

Notifications cover his screen, from missed calls to KKTalk messages- and the urge to pull out his hair rushes through him again. Everyone must know what happened, and Jongin immediately swipes away the messages from Sehun, Moonkyu, and the other dancers, next deleting the texts from Hyukjae, his voicemails left unheard-

And then he pauses over one alert, hesitating before he presses for more details. Taemin called him last night, probably just after his family left, and twice this morning. Biting down on his bottom lip, unwanted guilt claws its way out of Jongin’s ribs. He’s never lashed out at his friend before, always used to holding his tongue and burying the ugly thoughts down where they just simmer. Yesterday, though- he can’t remember the exact words, most of the details lost in the whirlwind, but he can still taste the venom he’d spit them out with, and he knows he should apologize.

His thumb hovers above the contact details, wounded pride raging against his shame for one long moment, until Jongin finally huffs and dails him back.

The phone rings slowly, the same dial tone repeating as Jongin’s eyes glaze over, hands smoothing the rumpled sheets out. With a shaky sigh, Jongin’s just about to cave and send a short text, instead, when the line crackles.

“Hello?”

“T-Taemin-” The name almost catches in his throat, and Jongin quickly clears his voice. “Uh- hey.”

“Oh, finally, man! I thought you’d died or something,” he jokes, cheerfully loud over the background noise, and Jongin stills in his motions. He doesn’t know what he expected, but Taemin sounds just like normal, no anger or sadness there, as if it didn’t affect him at all- “So, where’ve you been?”

“Just... busy.”

“What, training more?” Jongin’s fingers coil into the fabric, not wanting to have this conversation, anymore. “Or sleeping?” More silence, Jongin’s jaw clenching when Taemin lets out a cackle. “Jesus, you still have it in you! I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who can sleep as much as you do. It’s fucking impressive, man-”

“Yeah, I get it,” he states, his mouth coated in bitterness. Lowly, he can hear Taemin saying something to whoever he’s with- probably out with one of his countless friends, and the chatter of wherever he was dies down to a murmur.

“Okay, I’m outside now- Jongin,” Taemin says, teasing dropped. “Man, you _have_ to tell me- What the fuck happened last night?”

Leaning his back to the headboard, Jongin takes in a long breath, pushing down his feelings for the moment.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, which is the only honest reply he can give.

“It wasn’t some crazy acid trip, right?”

Jongin had come home last night to find holes worn through his pointe shoes, and a new graze on his calf, the image of New York burned into the back of his eyelids ever since. “It- definitely wasn’t,” he assures.

“So, how did you do it?” Taemin asks simply, and Jongin scoffs.

“Why do you think it was me that did it?” he counters.

“I felt it, man! You did some weird shit and your skin was all hot and feverish and then you shocked me- like electricity or something!” Jongin frowns, none of this sounding familiar. “It had nothing to do with me, I just know that for some reason.”

“Hm. Weird."

“You don’t seem very worried about it,” Taemin remarks, and Jongin stays quiet, lips pursed.

Should he be worried?

At Taemin’s sudden gasp, Jongin jerks up. “Maybe you’re a mutant, like from the X-Men!” Flopping back onto his bed, Jongin just rolls his eyes, unsurprised that Taemin would turn this into a Marvel reference. “Any second now, Professor Xavier’s gonna bust through your door and get your ass enrolled into his school. Screw Juilliard, man, this is heaps cooler!” Instantly, Jongin’s heart seizes back up, acid rising in his throat before he can swallow it down- “Hey, who recruits kids now that Professor X is dead? Man, I gotta rewatch-”

“I have to go,” Jongin cuts in sharply.

“What- seriously? What’s happening?”

“Parents. Talk later.”

“Hey, keep me post-”

He hangs up on Taemin mid-sentence, his phone dropped to wring handfuls of his hair. Seething through gritted teeth, all the rage pent up inside him boils in his veins- stinging at his vision and threatening to burst free-

The screen lights up against the white sheets, Taemin’s name clear and Jongin grabs it, squinting through orange mist to read the message asking if they’re still on for the gym that night. _Saturday = arm day!_ his friend reminds him- and Jongin chucks his phone down on the mattress, hearing it clatter to the floor a moment later.

Slamming himself onto his stomach, face suffocated in his pillow, Jongin just wants to scream- to cry his lungs out- to do _anything_ to get rid of the overwhelming pain ripping through him-

He hates this- hates that Taemin is fine, today- hates that he can keep everything after Jongin’s lost what little he had left. Taemin life is something that Jongin can't even imagine- with a bartending job between SeoulArts classes and friends wherever he goes, with girlfriends and hook-ups lining up for him, a mother who's unconditionally proud of him, and on top of it all, he still gets to have the natural talent that Jongin worked for eight hours a day, six days a week, but never got close to.The worst part, though, the thing that makes Jongin’s chest sear and fists wring apart his pillow, is that Taemin had the _choice._ He could have taken the scholarship to New York and attended the most prestigious dance program in the country- but he already had enough in Seoul to make him stay, not even phased when Soojung left because there was always someone else waiting for him-

Jongin has _nothing,_ and everything in his life, in his neatly packed-up room, is a mocking reminder of that. Choking on his sobs, he punches at the mattress- over and over, hand pathetically bouncing back with no impact- draining out the last of his energy until his arm can barely move, anymore.

Defeated, Jongin curls his body to the side, cradling himself into a tight ball. A weight constricts around his heart, mouth burning through every hitched gasp, eyes desperate to cry but there’s no water left-

This is the wreckage after the fire, the drought after the storm, and Jongin’s trapped in it, no way out-

There’s nothing he can do about the misery that’s dug deep inside his ribs, and for today, tomorrow, the next day, he’ll stay hidden, avoiding the world for as long as he can let himself mourn.

Right now, that means staying shut in and leaving his phone untouched, maybe getting an old movie up on his laptop, or going through that list of shows he hasn’t had the time to watch over the past two years. But before that, he knows he has to drink something, the urge getting more dire as his panting quickens. If he’s fast enough, no one in his family should be able to notice him, and Jongin sits up slowly, his muscles constricting in pain.

As he stands on weary bones, neon dots stream down his sight, and he grabs at his desk chair, waiting for them to clear. Eyes left prickling after a moment, Jongin takes the empty glass and starts again, walking over to his door and out of the room when he collides-

Suddenly, they’re downstairs and his sister gasps, stumbling a step over. “Wha-” Jungah looks up from her phone, blinking around in pure confusion as Jongin does too.

The hallway has opened up to their cramped living room, strong smells of barbeque churning at Jongin’s stomach and the TV droning on. Accidentally, Jongin locks eyes with his father who’s sitting on the couch, before he flinches his gaze down.

“Ew, Jongin- go back up and put some clothes on,” Jungah chides, Jongin nodding numbly as he gets out of her way. “Then come get some lunch. Mom went all the way to Majang just to get meat for you,” she states, stopped at the kitchen entryway to stare back at him.

Swallowing hoarsely, Jongin is frozen there for a second, blinking at the patterned wallpaper in front of him before he manages to stammer out, “I- I’m not hungry.”

“Huh? How can you not be when you’re just skin and bones!” she yells after him, but Jongin is already retreating away from her, away from his father, and starting to run. “Oi, Kim Jongin!”

Bounding up the stairs, he slams into his room, locking the door and disappearing under the sheets as if he had never left at all.

 

△

  

It takes two days of silent isolation before the jittering under Jongin’s skin becomes unbearable.

Just for something, anything to do, he starts going on walks- long, aimless ones around his district with the music turned up and the summer heat beating down on him. The fresh air helps to take the edge off his nerves, but it still isn’t enough, not when this restlessness has carved itself so deeply into his body.

Jongin is used to being stressed, stressed about the deadlines constantly looming over him, of his commitments clashing. He’s used to darting from one thing to the next and pushing himself past his limit, because he feels guilty if he sits still for even a second.

Except the past week has felt different to the one leading up to his performance. This is more than just the constant lists playing in his head, or the knots in his stomach that make food harder to eat, or the quickening of his pulse when he sees that he’s running out of time- no-

This is like someone has hooked its claws through his skin and torn his chest open, like it’s jammed its weight behind his ribs and is pressing on his lungs so hard he struggles to _breathe._ It’s as if he’s been left paralyzed, like every movement is him forcing his way through the stiff icicles in his veins.

There’s no break even at night, when before, Jongin had to fight off his tiredness to stay awake and study, only getting eight hours of sleep once he graduated in December. Ever since the showcase, though, he's tossing and turning, unable to find relief from this constant agitation for more than a few hours of vivid dreams, as if every fibre of his being is punishing him for not doing the right thing.

He knows what the right thing is, because this has happened once before, and Jongin's been terrified of it ever since. In year 10, when he suffered his first major injury and had to take a month off, this is how he'd feel, scraping through every day of school and rehabilitation in desperation, needing to get back into the studio and start training so he could get rid of all the pent-up energy that was gnawing through his muscles.

But Jongin _can’t_ do that yet- not when just thinking about dancing has him in a panic, his vision blurring, knees going weak, heart aching.

Ballerinas are experts in the art of resilience, of picking themselves up after every failure and moving on to the next thing without a minute wasted, and Jongin always thought he was good at that. He wouldn’t hesitate to fling himself from one competition routine to the next, from assignment to assignment even if he didn’t get the scores he wanted.

And now- he can’t bear to face the academy or the people in it, and the one thing that was his only escape _terrifies_ him.

Just a few more days, a few more days of lazing around and eating, and then he’ll go back to his normal life. That’s what Jongin tells himself, as he finally stops debating with himself and steps into the convenience store, relieved as the aircon hits the sweat on his face. After spending the week at home, he’s gone through the whole stash of instant ramen, on top of the constant meals his mother has been cooking him. With his diet of portioned white meat and vegetables broken, the urge to eat gnaws at Jongin even when he isn’t hungry, and he’s been caving into it, no matter how late at night it is.

After pushing down enough guilt, Jongin huffs and clears the shelf of Shin Ramyun packets, before tapping it onto his barely-used card. His savings have been slowly piling up over the years, thanks to tutoring elementary kids in English plus his parent’s monthly contributions, and with nothing else to spend it on, he can afford this. Carelessly swinging the plastic bag of food, Jongin steps out of the CU and back onto the one-way street, walled in by old buildings.

Just a few more days, he promises himself. Just a few more days and then he’ll return Hyukjae’s calls. He’ll catch up on all the missed practice, start going to the gym again, get back on his diet. They’ll find a college program he can apply for next year, maybe one overseas, though Jongin doesn’t have his hopes up. They’ll forget all about Juilliard, and then everything will be just like how it was before the showcase, with hours upon hours of practicing and refining, and Jongin will just have to pretend that the thought of doing that doesn’t make his blood boil-

Letting out a frustrated groan, he stretches his free arm above his head, wincing as his singlet rides above his sore waist. He doesn’t want to go home, yet, when he’s only walking a few blocks down. Yesterday, he’d done the 45-minute trip to visit his old school, and another time, he’d caught the bus up to the Han river just to stare out at the water. But it’s getting to the middle of June, and this early in the afternoon, it’s too hot to be outside, the air too thick for Jongin to swallow down. There’s nothing interesting to do around this area by himself, anyway, and he’ll be craving his bowl of noodles soon.

As he fits his earphones back in, Jongin resigns himself to make the trip back to their apartment, trying to push away the fraying at the edges of his mind. At least he still has three and a half seasons of _The Walking Dead_ to distract himself with, and his mom is letting him have his space.

Keeping to the side to avoid the cars that pass by, Jongin checks that no one's around before he stuffs his face mask in his shorts' pocket for the ten minute walk. His acne’s gotten worse in the past few days, so he’s doing his best to hide it, but the thin material is suffocating him, making him pant when he's struggling to keep an even pace and not jog off the tightness in his muscles.

To distract himself, he hits play on his iPhone, _What If I Go?_ by Mura Masa takes over Jongin’s thoughts as he scuffs his feet along the dirty road. To the electronic beat, he taps out the 4:4 count on his thigh, a helpful slowing down from the rattling of his chest. As he walks along, his mind can’t help running through moves that might fit, a habit he’s picked up over the years. Thinking contemporary and fun, Jongin pictures going through a _glissade_ _assembl_ _é_ to a _d_ _é_ _velopp_ _é_ to a series of barrel leaps, and when he rounds the corner- he's suddenly crashing- music ripped out as he’s knocked backwards.

His tail bone hits the ground at the same time the wind gets punched out of him, Jongin’s eyes flying open to see that everything has changed-

Red bricks have turned into white stone, the sky wide above them, and traffic rushing in his ears, he looks frantically at the elderly woman who sits on the floor in front of him, scowling around. Her groceries are splayed out on diamond-shaped tiles, and Jongin’s jaw drops, flailing to get onto his feet, bottom still throbbing.

In a flurry, he starts grabbing up the things nearest to him before they roll away- stuffing vegetables and packets back into her bags as he rambles through formal apologies. But when he makes eye contact for one second, she’s glaring straight at him, and the fury in her expression makes him still.

Without warning, she bursts into angry yelling, a finger waving accusingly at Jongin who scrambles away from her. Grabbing up his bag of ramen, he gives a sloppy bow before he turns around and sprints, heading from the middle of the walkway to the cover of the nearest building.

Pulse hammering in his throat, he stays hidden behind a pillar as he watches the woman eventually hurl herself up and waddle in confused circles, guilt crawling under his skin. At least, based on the ads plastered to the trucks that drive by on the busy street, he’s sure that this is still Seoul, and soon the elderly lady stops a family that help point her in the right direction.

Craning his neck after her, Jongin’s stare follows until she’s out of sight, hoping she gets home safely and trying to rationalize that there’s nothing he could have done unless he wanted to risk-

He doesn’t know what. Jongin has absolutely no idea what would have happened, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he should be involving strangers in.

Leaning his back to the marble, he sighs deeply, the pressure in his lungs eased for once. This is the third time, and Jongin’s just as clueless as the first. A midnight search on Naver was useless, everything under ‘teleportation’ talking about research on light particles- all lab theories and comic book possibilities, with nothing concrete. He quickly gave up after that, knowing that his questions aren’t the type he can look up- like why him? Why now? And just _why-_ why is this happening?

Something inside Jongin, something to do with the new uncertainty jammed beside his heart, creeping through his blood, tells him that he’s not going to get those answers anytime soon. For the moment, this is what he’s stuck with, an unfair trade-off for his lifelong dream, and until he can make any sense of it, all he can do is be more wary of people-

Sneering to himself, Jongin wonders if maybe it’s all a sign to lock himself in his room for good, let the nerves swallow him whole.

That sounds like enough of a plan for today, which leaves him with the problem of finding his way back home. At least he has his phone and his subway card, so this is nothing more than an annoying detour. Stepping back out into the light and wincing from the reflection off the bright tiles, Jongin’s a second from getting his GPS app up when he has to suddenly jump back from a stampede of young kids. They zip straight past him to get into the same building that he was just hiding under, and shielding his eyes from the sun, Jongin looks back to see why.

The red arch of Lotte World towers over him, fanned out like a crown in the sky, and he huffs in disbelief. For some reason, Jongin’s ended up one district over in Songpa, in front of the amusement park he hasn’t visited in seven years. It almost feels like some kind of peace offering, like his subconscious has granted his wish for something to do, today. _Nice try,_ he thinks, a hint of a smile on his face, but he still isn’t sold. The whole thing is so ridiculous, though, that he has to snap a picture of the bright entryway and clock, fingers tapping to send it to Taemin.

 _Look where I just appeared._ **Sent: 12:32PM**

Locking his screen, the idea of going inside crosses his mind for a brief second, but Jongin doesn’t know if that would be admitting some sort of defeat. Besides, he’s never liked being stuck in buildings with huge crowds of people, and it would only be a bad idea now more than ever.

Jamsil station should be somewhere nearby, from what he remembers, and just as soon as he’s started to walk away, his phone lights up in his hand. It’s Taemin’s calling, and Jongin pauses in his steps before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Jongin!” Taemin screeches from the other end, and Jongin winces at the volume. “Are you for real at Lotte World right now?”

“Yeah, I’m standing right outside it,” he says nonchalantly, lips fighting off a grin.

“Are you fucking kidding me, man?!” Taemin shouts, and Jongin can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “How did you do it?”

“I just bumped into someone on the street, and now I’m here,” Jongin replies, not hiding his smugness.

“That’s fucking awesome, man! Shit- don’t do anything fun without me, I’m gonna be there in a sec.”

“Wait- are you serious?” Jongin asks with a frown.

“Yeah! Let me just ditch Minho-” There’s an offended ‘hey’ in the background that Taemin cackles to. Sighing in exasperation, Jongin should have known better than to tell Taemin. Now he’s got no way out of it- “Gimme half an hour to bus there, okay? We were just getting croissants at Montmarte.”

“Alright, just hurry up,” Jongin orders.

“Yessir! Hey, work out a way to get us in for free!” Taemin exclaims, just as Jongin hangs up on him.

Walking lazily, Jongin settles back under the shaded cover and sinks onto the cold floor with a groan, faced away from the building doors. His dry mouth is begging for a soft drink, but he doesn’t have the energy to stand, again, all of it sweated out in the humidity. Instead, Jongin fits his face mask back on and lets his recently played tracks play through, comfortable enough to sit still and wait because breathing is easy at the moment.

There isn’t much to occupy his mind, though, as he checks the time on his phone after every song and sees that the minutes have barely passed. Tapping his fingers to his thighs, he’s ignores the itch to check his normal apps like Instagram and Youtube, which are only filled by dance videos, thin idols, and fitness tips that he’ll regret seeing, and so he’s left to get lost in his thoughts.

Head leant to the pillar, Jongin can’t help but think back to that one time his family had gone to Lotte World, just after the move. Every time they’d driven up to Seoul before then, his parents would always promise him and his sisters that they’d go, but after Jongin’s competition costs, accommodation and everything else, they’d never have the money. On the day they finally went, Jongin remembers how ecstatic he’d been, how he’d dragged his dad from ride to ride he didn’t want to go on-

It should be a nice memory, but Jongin’s left with a sour taste in his mouth- because everything that happened _after_  floods him in painful images before he can stop it. After they'd settled in and realized their mom wouldn’t be able to find a job, after Jongin was just told to focus on school and ballet while his father started working overtime, and how that lead to-

Pressing his fingers to his closed eyes, Jongin turns the volume up, loud enough that he can’t hear his brain, anymore, leaving it near full for the rest of the time.

It takes forty-five minutes before Taemin finally messages that he’s there, and when Jongin spots him racing over, he stands up on sore legs, hand on the marble for support.

“Sup, Blink?” Taemin yells, his arms spread out in greeting.

“Who?” Jongin questions, still focused on wrapping up his headphones.

“Generation X, duh,” Taemin pants out, and at Jongin's grimace, he bargains, "Hey, it's either Blink or Nini."

"Neither," Jongin clips, Taemin cackling and almost going for a shoulder punch before Jongin jerks away from him at the last second.

“Oh shit, that thing. Damn, you’re gonna have to remind me, you know I’m a toucher,” he jokes, making Jongin roll his eyes as he follows his friend to the entrance. “Ready to puke on some rides, man?”

“Can we get food first?” he asks, stretching his shoulders back when they hit the cool air and the chatter inside. “I’m starving.”

“Man, as if they have anything here that fits in with your lame-ass diet,” Taemin states.

“I’m not dieting, anymore,” Jongin says, trying to sound affected as they join the end of the queue. Just before Taemin can comment, he quickly points at the red, plaid shirt his friend’s got tied around his waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Scoffing, Taemin pauses to give him a long once-over. “Really? With that outfit?” he clips bluntly.

Jongin yanks the shirt off of Taemin, anyway, not caring if it won’t match his basketball shorts and Nike slippers. “It’s for safety, not fashion,” he states, glaring at the ripped skinny jeans Taemin’s expertly tucked into his dumb Timberlands.

But Taemin makes up for whatever leftover annoyance Jongin has against him by paying for their tickets, which Jongin doesn’t feel even slightly bad about considering all the money Taemin gets from bartending.

 _“Après vous, madame,”_ Taemin mocks once they’re let through, Jongin grimacing as he leads the way forward.  

But it only takes a few minutes of being in the bustle of bright colors and boppy theme park music before there's a beam permanently stuck to his face. Lotte World is just as fun as his child-self remembered, and Jongin finds himself running and laughing with Taemin so hard that he’s in stitches. Both of them are equally excited about going on the same rollercoaster over and over or showing off on the ice until they’ve both fallen over. Between stuffing down fried food and wasting all of Taemin’s cash on arcade games that they both stubbornly refuse to give up on, the three hours pass in the blink on an eye.

“So, you enjoy yourself?” Taemin asks, once they’re too broke and exhausted to do anything except wander around the crowded paths under the glass dome.

“Yeah, a little,” Jongin replies, swinging the newly-won Judy Hopps plush in his hand, Taemin tossing his Iron Man up and down beside him.

“More than a little, I reckon,” he jokes.

Still smiling, Jongin doesn’t reply, but he honestly can’t remember the last time that he’s actually had fun like this. It could have been back in February, the night after graduating from Seoul High when he, Taemin and Sehun had snuck over the school fence with bottles of alcohol. Neither he nor Sehun were legal, yet, but they’d played basketball on the outdoor court until all the soju shots kicked in, then crashing on the oval to star-gaze and drunkenly sing pop songs. Looking back on everything, now, it might actually be one of Jongin’s best memories, and one of the few times where he’s been glad that Taemin stayed in Seoul.

After that, everything had crashed into him full-force, non-stop, and now that he’s thinking about those past five months, that whole period of his life is darkened with regret. If Jongin had known it would all be for nothing, maybe he would have left the academy and gone straight into a degree like Taemin did. He had the final results to make it into a SKY university, but he doesn’t know what he would have studied, never needing to think about it. Maybe languages, to keep up his English fluency and learn more French, or maybe he could have studied Korean literature, spent all his time analyzing stories and writing his own, like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he could have gotten a part-time job somewhere near home, and saved up until he could have afforded to go on an exchange to New York.

There was so much Jongin could have been doing instead, so many paths he could have taken, so many memories he could have made in the place of that one, ceaseless practice session.

It’s too late to change it now, though, but maybe there’s still time to create new ones.

“Alright, man, what now?” Taemin asks, pushing the entrance door open as hot air whooshes to meet them. “Fuck, it’s bright-”

Blinking back the spots from his vision, Jongin looks up to see the sun shining high and golden above them, the sky a cloudless blue stretched far above the city, and it feels like the possibilities are endless.

“Hey, you reckon you can get us to a real Disneyland?” Taemin teases, and Jongin looks over to catch his mischievous grin.

With a quick check around them, all the families are spread out enough that Jongin extends a hand to Taemin, palm facing up. “Let’s try.”

His friend gives him a funny look for a second, like he’s trying to decipher the grin on Jongin’s face before a laugh bursts out of him. “Game on,” Taemin says, and Jongin’s heart is soaring with possibility when they grip onto each other.

There’s no magical feeling- no warning before they’re in the shadows of a dingy alleyway, stuck between worn-down apartments and aircon units where it reeks of rotting fruit and dogs are barking maniacally.

“Uh, I dunno how to break it to you, man, but this ain’t Disney,” Taemin states, starting to walk off when an old pitbull bursts from behind a dumpster and he shrieks, “Holy fuck- run!”

Staggering their way out, both of them have to sprint down lanes and around corners until the dog finally gives up on his chase and flops down on the street. Breathlessly, Jongin’s doubled over in a fit of giggles as Taemin curses out the sleeping hound with all the swear words he knows, and it looks like they could have some fun with this.

 

△

  

‘Daytripping’, as Taemin likes to call it, quickly becomes the new center of Jongin’s life.

With the camera he just bought slung around his neck, carrying a backpack stuffed with snacks and jackets in case they end up south, Jongin grabs onto Taemin, and they’re off.

Jongin has travelled before, as a school student, but it’s never been for a holiday. The only contests his parents would let him compete in were the ones held between semesters, when Jongin would have to beg to be sent to Jackson, Mississippi, to Sochi, Russia, or to Nagoya, Japan, and he’d have to bite down his disappointment at being on the return flight the next day.

With this power, though, Jongin gets swept back to those cities, and then even further- to Paris, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Milan- all places that Jongin swears he might have written down on a list years ago. Each trip is a surprise, every single time washing them up in a different crowd, a different rhythm of music, and once they land, Jongin can finally fill his lungs. He’d be happy to spend the rest of his life getting lost amongst the nameless faces, learning his way around new maps, breathing in different airs, fueled by the adrenaline that the teleport sends racing through him.

But there’ll always be a reason they have to leave too soon, like a bad time zone, or a curfew, or just Taemin getting bored by the scenery. And without fail, when Jongin’s resigned to heading back, he can get them on familiar ground around Bangbae-dong, somewhere within walking distance of their places.

Every waking second at home, he wonders where they might end up next, filling his mind with other people’s travel videos and scrawling down his latest adventure in a leather-bound journal. His afternoon walks are now him rushing to the nearest Kodak shop to print out more snapshots, then pasting the photos onto the lined pages, memories of the hot dogs they’d scarfed down on Coney Island, of sunsets over the Pacific, European castles, Shinto shrines, and his personal favorite: a series of Taemin trying and failing to flirt with French girls.

But the new hobby doesn’t work to distract Jongin for long, and he’s only granted one night of soundless sleep before the fibres in his chest are shaking, again. Even during the university break, Taemin’s busy more often than not, with late-night shifts and other friends to see, and no matter how desperate Jongin is, he can only get a hold of him every few days. By that point, he’s on the verge of unravelling, mind grappling for that one second when they leave and his nerves fall quiet, and Jongin has the chance to start all over again.

As the month flies by him, whether or not anyone in his family has gotten suspicious about the missed dinners or the day-long disappearances, they won't say. There was one quiet dinner when his father tries to bring up when he’ll be going back to the dance studio, Jongin freezing before his sister scolded his dad, and the living room fell back into static from the evening news until Jongin could escape. Even throughout the painful silence hovering in every room of their apartment, Jongin can feel that the pity that was in his parents’ eyes for the first week has now been replaced with a clear confusion, with questions about the future that Jongin can't stand to answer, not even thinking about anything further forward than his next trip. 

The unfairness of it all makes Jongin want to tear his hair out- because when he was breaking himself apart with ballet, always constantly exhausted and injured, they would tell him not to push himself so hard. But Jongin knew better- knew that the _whole reason_ why they’d had come to Seoul was for him, for his dance career to succeed. So when he realized how much they weren't telling him, he kept secret when his waist was acting up and he needed to see the physio, or when he went through another day on three hours of rest after studying until dawn. In year 10, when it was all falling apart and Jongin spent his nights in the studio to avoid going home, he danced on a sprained ankle for two whole weeks before his teacher caught on. When she did call his mother, they forced him out of the studio for a month of rehab that nearly  _killed_ him.

And now, as soon as he takes the only break he’s ever allowed himself since then- he can sense their disappointed stares on him when he stalks out of his room, hear the whispers about the rejection email Hyukjae forwarded to them, Jongin already telling himself everything they aren’t willing to say out loud.

All of it only worsens the urge under his skin to get away, and every time he does, Jongin dreads the moment that he has to come back.

 

△

 

In July, the evenings are just as hot and stifling as the days, and even as the sun sets, Jongin gets no relief from the humidity on his twenty-minute walk to Taemin’s apartment.

One step off of the busy street, he can finally stop before the familiar iron gate, shutters already pulled across on the security guard’s booth. In the fading light, Jongin leans into the keypad on the wall, impatiently buzzing in the right number and tapping his hand to his thigh as he waits for the beep.

“Hello?” Taemin slurs out, his voice crackling.

“Hey, it’s me. Let me up,” Jongin clips into the speaker.

“What’s the password?” Taemin taunts, and Jongin huffs, desperate to get out of this breathless heat.

“We’re already gonna be late,” he whines. “Please?”

Taemin cuts out mid-laugh, the gate creaking as it slides open and Jongin rushes through. Unlike the older brick house Jongin’s family shares with the one below them, Taemin lives on the 12th floor of a towering white complex, all of the square windows above him lit yellow and blue, now. But while the outside may look more modern, Jongin isn’t envious, knowing that the two-bedroom shoebox can barely fit Taemin and his constantly working mother, and the sleepovers he’s had have all been squeezed into the hardwood gap between his friend’s bed and the closet.

Letting himself through the front door, Jongin grimaces when the air inside is just as thick, mixed in with the musky smell of traditional homes. He’s at least thankful that the elevator is in service, for once, and while he waits for the numbers to flash by, he wipes his sweat onto the back of one hand, fanning himself with the other. His makeup has probably started running, but they might have to leave straight away before he can fix it, his phone reading 9:12PM and the meeting set to happen in Gangnam at 9:30. Sighing shakily, Jongin pushes his hair back, all of his twisted nerves wishing there was a way that he could get out of this but still get Taemin to travel with him tomorrow morning.

His friend’s head is already poking out from his door when Jongin is let out in the tiled hallway, grinning at him in pure glee, and Jongin grimaces back.

“Aw, c’mon, man, _what_ are you wearing?” Taemin sighs out as Jongin walks up to him.

“What’s wrong with this?” Jongin asks defensively, scowling at Taemin’s plunging vee-neck and skin-tight jeans, his light brown hair perfectly slicked up. “You said to dress nice.”

“Yeah, and where the fuck does that mean look like a 40 year old going to church? Christ, how do you expect to get any action in that? Just get in.” Jaw clenched, Jongin doesn’t reply, letting himself be ushered into the apartment and dropping off his backpack in the tight entryway. “Alright, lemme find you something that a girl’s actually gonna wanna take off,” Taemin insists, Jongin following him around the corner to his bedroom.

Plopping onto the single mattress, right in line of the whirring air conditioner, Jongin folds his arms, fuming in silence as he watches Taemin rummage through the things scattered across the floor. He just wants today to be over with, having already gotten into a panic when he tried to get ready and couldn’t get things to fit, until he finally settled on looser white shorts and an untucked denim button-down. But he’s still feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of talking to strangers, or of the fine he’s risking by going out underage, both things that he would have never agreed to if he wasn’t getting desperate. This was Taemin’s condition for Jongin to escape the constant tremors that break out under his skin, their voltage building up with each day that goes by, and he had no choice but to take it.

“You’re just lucky that Jinri’s group is taking forever so I’ve got time to save this,” Taemin huffs out, and Jongin shakes his head, trying to focus on the conversation before his thoughts start to bubble over. “Girls, man. They can be a pain in the ass, sometimes, but they're worth it," he says, then turning to give Jongin a grin. "Hey, you reckon this is the night for me and Jinri?”

“I doubt it,” Jongin deadpans. "She'll probably go home with her friends."

“Dammit, you're right, man,” Taemin complains, flinging more clothes at the wall next to Jongin. “She definitely ain't an easy girl."

“You should just take her on a proper date, instead of telling her to come by the bar,” Jongin insists, like he's been saying for the past two weeks since Taemin first met her.

“Nah, this trick always works,” Taemin dismisses, and Jongin roll his eyes. “Leaves 'em wanting more. Besides, I don't wanna be tied down tonight, all the girls've gotta think I'm up for grabs,” he states.

“I thought that you were starting to like her,” Jongin says flatly.

“Hey, I like all hot girls,” Taemin explains, voice muffled as he crouches underneath his desk. “And if one of Jinri's friends is better looking, then I’ll like her more- it's simple, man.”

Mouth curving bitterly, Jongin doesn't say anything, letting the room fall into the quiet of Taemin's rustling around.

It’s been this way ever since they first met- Taemin’s been showered with constant attention, jumping from one heartbroken girl to the next, with Soojung being his only long-term girlfriend of two years. But for Jongin, the closest he's ever gotten to a girl is his classmate during a supported adagio, and the _pas de deux_ lessons only ever part of the curriculum for him, unlike the other guys who would carry on in the change rooms afterwards.

“But don’t worry, you gets dibs on second best,” Taemin chimes in, unfazed. “This is all for you, man. Fucking ‘bout time we found you someone.”

Digging his nails into his arm, Jongin isn’t even letting himself fantasize about that. After nineteen years alone, of writing and wondering about love and creating fairytales in his head, it’s easier for Jongin to just tell himself he’s waiting for the right girl to come by at the right time, and that there's no chance of finding her tonight.

“Don’t tell my guys, yeah? They’re banking on this getting them laid, but I’m looking out for you the most, ‘cause five thousand won says you’re the only virgin at the bar,” Taemin laughs out, and Jongin closes his eyes, temples starting to pound. “Trust me, we’re gonna change that. I know _all_ the love hotels around Yeoksam-dong, so as soon as you find your girl, I’ll give you the address and you guys can just zap off.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Jongin snaps.

“Sometimes you don’t get very far, man,” Tamin points out, referring to the times when they’d be travelling and Jongin would accidentally end up a few metres behind of where they were just walking. “Plus I bet your teleporty compass is with me on this one. You’re gonna be wound a lot less tight once you’ve actually fucked someone,” he says, finally crawling out and chucking a plain white tee into Jongin’s lap.

“Well, sorry, but I’m not interested,” Jongin mutters out, not moving to touch the shirt.

“Goddammit- you’re so fucking repressed that you don’t even realize it! You need some self-discovery, man. Aren't you watching the porn I'm sending you?” Seething through gritted teeth, acid strangles Jongin’s throat shut, his vision spotting red- “Oh my god, you _still_ haven't? Will you even know where to put it-”

“Can you shut up?” he lashes out, glare burning with venom-

“Oi, cool it!” Taemin shoots back with just as much force, and Jongin drops his head in his hands, the pressure in his chest still threatening to cave- “Look, if you don’t want my help then you can just go be gay with Sehun for all I care-”

Snapping up, Jongin stumbles onto his feet, engulfed by the desperate urge to get out-

“Wait- c’mon, Nini- where are you going?” Taemin asks, blocking the way with his arms up.

“I'm- bathroom,” Jongin rushes out, voice trembling.

"You know I didn’t mean it like that, it was a joke-”

 _“Move,”_ Jongin pants out, his nerves bursting to shove through.

“I’m serious, man, I just want us to have fun tonight,” Taemin insists, his tone pleading. “Let’s forget about this. I’ll grab you some jeans and we can go, alright?”

The anger still lurching through him in waves, Jongin slowly backs away, forcing down the fire until it only simmers in his gut. As Taemin steps up to open his closet, Jongin faces the other wall and starts unbuttoning his shirt, when another thought stabs at his mind.

“No, I have to get changed in the bathroom,” he states, the shifting of fabrics stopped.

“You know I’ve seen you naked dozens of times, what’s the deal?” Taemin asks, and Jongin holds his undone front tighter together. “You hiding some embarrassing tattoo from me?”

“Just let me out,” Jongin mutters, side-stepping between Taemin’s back and the bed to get out when Taemin’s grabbed onto his sleeves. “Hey-”

Before Jongin can stop him, Taemin’s yanked the shirt off his bare shoulders, the last few buttons holding together as the top falls open around his hips.

“Shit- where did your abs go!” Taemin exclaims, already cackling as Jongin scrambles to hide his stomach, burning bright red. “Man, you gotta get back to the gym-”

“I know,” he cuts back, heart hammering as Taemin's last laughs wisping out.

“Yeah, whatever. You know I’m always down to train with you,” his friend states more gently, but Jongin is still shrunken away, refusing to look back at him. “I’m gonna wait out there.”

The door opened and shut, Jongin is left with shaking fingers, fumbling to put on the thin shirt and light-wash jeans Taemin left on the bed, both the clothes clinging to his body in a way they wouldn’t have four kilos ago. Ashamed, Jongin tries to push that thought to the back of his mind, tries to stop comparing himself to Taemin’s perfectly-toned body, who’s never had to watch what he eats, while Jongin has been dieting strictly ever since he first started gaining weight during his time in rehab.

Quietly, he steps out of the room to Taemin’s impressed whistle, all of his friend’s compliments falling on deaf ears. Taking the last chance he can to check his makeup in the bathroom mirror, Jongin spends the minutes boring into every fault that he finds in the reflection, every pimple and uneven feature, until Taemin barges back in to get him.

His head hung, Jongin finally gives up and follows, numbed as they step outside into the night air, letting it drown him.

 

△

 

A few crowded streets from Gangnam Station, the cocktail bar Taemin takes them to hides at the top of a dingy flight of stairs, crammed full with university students that Jongin can easily blend in with. 

Their group of ten is awkwardly packed into the longest table inside, separated from the bustling rooftop patio by a glass wall. Seating himself on the end of the bench, Jongin keeps his head down, his shoulders tucked in, sweating in Taemin’s leather jacket with a hand gripped around one of the beers his friend had passed around. 

Everything around the room is shaded brown, the lights on low, and the only familiar face is Minho’s, Taemin’s closest friend from their high school. But he and Taemin are already laughing with Jinri across from Jongin, the chatter of the room too loud to make out what they’re saying, and Jongin is left in static. Thankfully, the guy next to him, from Taemin’s b-boy club, starts talking to Jongin soon enough that he doesn’t have to completely shrink away.

Jongin finds Wonshik easier to get along with than most people, just friendly and nerdy enough for Jongin to reply to his questions, even if he finds it hard to ask new ones. At least they’re both nervous, with Wonshik worrying over and over about how pretty some of the girls around them are, while Jongin is too uncomfortable to even look up and risk making eye contact. But as Wonshik carries on, Jongin’s gaze keeps flicking over to Jinri before he can help it. 

With her brown hair pushed behind her ears and red lips pulled into a smile, she’s just as radiant as the pictures Taemin had showed him, but seeing her in person, she really reminds Jongin of Soojung. There’s something in the way she playfully hits Taemin’s arm, or covers her mouth when she laughs too hard that almost feels like  déjà vu , that takes Jongin back to days spent across from them at cafes, or sitting behind them at  _ hagwon,  _ studying while they were busy flirting. Taemin must have a type, but Jongin won’t point that out to him, not when his friend hasn’t mentioned Soojung since she moved to Paris for her patisserie course last July. Instead, he tries to listen to what Wonshik has to say, and ignores the unsettled feeling it leaves curled in his chest.

It’s only by the time Jongin’s on his third bottle of Hite, nothing else to do but take a bitter sip whenever there’s a lull in conversation, that he finally starts feeling a bit lighter. The knots in his body have loosened enough for him to shrug off the jacket and fan the flush on his cheeks, already faintly buzzing from the alcohol. Leaned in closer to Wonshik, the two of them are naming R&B artists back and forth, favorite tracks flowing between each other when Jongin gets a hard blow to the shoulder.

Turning in confusion, Jongin finds Taemin looming above him with a mischievous grin that he instantly narrows his eyes at.

“Sorry to break up your little love-fest,” his friend slurs out, voice raised just enough to hear over the noise. “But I’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”

Stomach instantly dropping, Jongin glances behind him to see Jinri struggling to push an unwilling girl towards them, whose face is buried in her hands, sharp, shoulder-length hair rippling as she shakes her head.

“Nini,” Taemin cuts back in, oblivious to the pleading look Jongin gives him, the sudden panic clutched around his throat as Taemin slings an arm around the new girl. “This is Sunyoung.”

Gleefully, Jinri drags over a chair for her to sit at the corner of the table, both of them forcing her down into it, and Jongin instinctively recoils back, tightening into a low hunch that strains his neck.

“Nini here’s a ballet dancer,” Taemin brags as he crouches in the gap between the two of them, Jongin keeping his fists firmly clenched in his lap, still refusing to speak. “He’s won plenty of international competitions, graduated top of our high school,  _ and _ he’s been doing a heap of traveling this year.”

“Oh my gosh, no way!” Jinri exclaims, her voice high and bubbly. “Sunyoung  _ loves _ dancing! And she’s super good, too! Plus she’s always wanted to go traveling.”

“Well, you two are gonna have shittons to talk about, huh?” Taemin prompts, with another punch to Jongin’s shoulder, whose heart is beating against his ribs, every fibre of him wishing he wasn’t here. “Just ignore him, he’s shy as fuck around girls.”

“But that’s the same as Sunyoung with guys,” Jinri enthuses. “They might actually be perfect for each other!”

“C’mon man, you gotta loosen up,” Taemin mutters into Jongin’s ear, leaned down to slide a shot glass in front of his blurring sight. “Whiskey- just down it. Oi, Shik,” he yells over the top of Jongin, further caging him in. “You gonna help me get the next round?”

“Tae, dude, do we seriously have to stay here?” Wonshik whines just as loudly, instantly more animated than he was before. “Can’t we go dancing or something?”

“Just chill out and enjoy it, man,” Taemin counters, his next words fading behind Jongin’s pulse as he saunters back to his old spot across from them. “I booked karaoke for midnight, so we’re here for another hour.”

“But this place is so boring!” Wonshik complains, and Jongin feels a pang of hurt against the nausea circling through him. “And Burning Sun is just around the corner, right? You know I’m gonna be better at hitting it out there-”

“Or you could get your gay head out of your ass and start talking to all of these lovely girls around you,” Taemin snaps back, winning giggles from further down the table. “What do you ladies think, huh?”

As a debate rises around him, more people chiming in with their opinions of what they should do, Jongin stares at the grains that run through the wooden table, his mind swimming in and out of focus. He just prays that Sunyoung’s distracted by all the chaos and she’s forgotten about him, so that Jongin can pretend he’s not even there.

But he can’t block it out, not when everyone else is trying to join in on whatever Taemin has to say, or his friend’s jokes have the whole group cracking up, including Wonshik. Each time is like an extra stab behind Jongin’s temples, the strain building and making the beer churn through him. 

Taemin is clearly the leader of this group, and next to him, Jinri is proudly curved against his side, her blush shining and her gaze sparkling even under the dim lights, in a way that no one’s ever looked at Jongin.

As another round of laughter bursts around the table, Jongin can’t stand it anymore, reaching for the whiskey and tipping it back before he has the time to hesitate. After a delayed second where he sets the glass back down, the sharp taste of acid is clawing down the back of his mouth, strong enough to make him splutter into his palm and his vision burn, trying to keep it quiet and draw no attention to himself.

God- he should never have come tonight, his stinging eyes squeezed shut, forcing himself to swallow through the fire. It’s bad enough that he has to listen to Taemin’s stories everytime he sees him, but as if that wasn’t punishment enough- now he’s in one, stuck watching Taemin shine as he’s hiding away in the shadows like he has for years, now.

“- Jongin?“

Starkly, Jongin has to straighten himself up, so fast that his head is left spinning as he turns to Sunyoung and meets her shy smile for the first time, cold dread instantly washing through him.

“Your name’s Jongin, right?” she tries, fingers tucking her long fringe behind her ear.

“Y-yeah,” he strangles out, before clearing the ashes from his voice. “Uh- hi.”

“Hi,” she repeats, her cheekbones lifting further, and the need to disappear trembles hard through his limbs. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Sunyoung, in case you didn't hear them.”

Jongin just nods stiffly, hands nervously tapping at his thigh as he glances over to Taemin for help before he can stop himself. Caught watching them, Taemin just throws Jongin a playful wink before turning back to the rest of the group, and Jongin’s lungs only crumble further, all the oxygen trapped inside, because he has no idea what to say next. Taemin would know- he’s always made flirting seem so effortless, while Jongin’s too pathetic to even hold a conversation with a girl- feeling himself being pushed down- plunged underwater where he can’t breathe-

“This might be rude of me,” Sunyoung starts, and Jongin looks back at her sheepish expression, her kind voice drowning under the torrents of alcohol racing through his mind. “I just wanted to ask you if- um... Are you okay?” 

Stomach lurching, the strings around Jongin’s heart pierce deeper, aching for the chance to tell someone the truth that no- he isn’t- he doesn’t even remember the last time he was-

But his tongue is swelling and his throat clasping shut, air getting harder and harder to gasp through, and he can’t do it. All that Jongin knows how to do is run away, and he can feel the wrong words falling from his mouth before he can stop himself.

“- I’m sorry,” he whispers, the shame of it already heaving sickly through his veins. There’s no point in trying, though, not when he’s only going to end up disappointing her, anyway. “Please excuse me.”

Standing, the beer rushing upwards and making him dazed, Jongin has to swerve around Sunyoung’s seat to get out, not letting himself glance back. His balance slanted and head fogged, Jongin makes his way with uncertain steps towards the exit of the bar, swerving at the last second to avoid everyone else. At the yell of his name, he starts to move faster, bare arm scraping on the wall as he fumbles down the narrow flight of stairs.

Slamming outside, hit face-first by the raging heat of the night, Jongin stops to pant down the smells of food that are too thick to get into his lungs, head craning to look all around him. The street is flooded with color and people, with neon signs climbing up the length of the short buildings and a stream of students passing in front of him, the pulse in Jongin’s ears fighting through the clamour of the city.

“Hey, Nini!” Taemin’s voice yells from just behind him, spurring Jongin into a panicked flurry to escape.

Prying his way into the gap between the pedestrians and backed-up cars, Jongin battles against the current, unable to stand the thought of facing Taemin, right now. But there’s nowhere to go out here, the road one-way and shut in by the blackened sky with no alleys to turn down, all the restaurants and cafes along the ground level filled up, and Jongin has to resist the impulse to just lunge over and grab whoever’s walking by- 

Snagged by the back of his shirt, he’s jarred to a stop, heart caught pounding against his ribs. “How many times are you gonna make me run after you, huh?” Taemin demands, words blared into Jongin’s ear as he tries to wrench himself free. 

But Taemin’s got a firm hold, shoving Jongin to cut across the crowd and up the two steps that separate a closed business from the busy road. Underneath the cramped entryway, Jongin jerks out of his grip and slumps against the brick building, trying to catch his breath through the foul stench of tobacco. “Fuck, I could go for a smoke, right now,” Taemin groans, leaning a hand against the glass door of the darkened room. “Why is it so damn hard to quit?”

Hunched down, Jongin doesn’t reply, his gaze kept on the littered cigarette butts on the ground, watching the disjointed shadows eclipse the yellow light shone from the street lamps. The traffic and chatter of Gangnam sting behind his eyes, white noise crackling louder than he can think.

“Alright, man. You gonna tell me why you took off like that?” Taemin tries to coax, and Jongin grits his teeth together, frustrated that he can’t pace in this tight area and instead shifting weight from leg to leg. “Aw, c’mon, was she really that bad?”

“I just needed air,” he bites back, wishing Taemin wasn’t here-

“Dammit, I thought you’d like her. She’s got that mature, sexy thing going on- 

“It’s not about her,” Jongin cuts in, the venom burning through his insides and making him seethe. “Can you shut up about it?”

“Wait- were you into Jinri that whole time?” Taemin accuses with a fake gasp, Jongin’s vision flashing red. ‘Cause I can totally swing you something there-”

“No- god- stop it-” Jongin burst out, shooting his fiercest glare at him. But Taemin’s stupid smirk is unfazed, his stare mocking, and Jongin is so disgustingly, painfully jealous that he can’t stand it- “Just fuck off and leave me alone.”

“Well, shit, man,” Taemin says slowly, his grin widening, and Jongin caves over, fists grabbing at his hair in frustration. Y’know, I was joking before, but I didn’t realize I was right… It’s all starting to add up.”

“What are you even talking about?” Jongin shouts up at him, Taemin’s words messing with his head-

“Okay, let’s see. You’ve never been into any girls, you don’t watch porn,” Taemin starts, counting a list on his fingers that makes Jongin freeze in place, all the fevered flood draining from his body. “And tonight, you were may more interested in talking to fucking  _ Wonshik _ than a hot girl who was all over you? Are you getting the picture, yet, man?”

“What- what is wrong with you?” he whispers, nausea curdling thick through his veins, his temples throbbing.

“Hey, I’m just saying the facts, you tell me if I’m wrong,” Taemin states with a shrug.

“I like girls-” Jongin insists, trying to pull together stray thoughts from the crashing waves of alcohol. “I like- Han Yeseul- Kim Lihoe-”

“Okay- actresses, principal ballerinas- they don’t count,” Taemin counters, and Jongin shakes his head in disbelief, feeling his lungs shrink. “Who have you  _ actually _ liked? Y’know, makes you nervous, butterflies in your stomach and all that shit?”

“No one- our school was all boys!” Jongin insists, looking at his friend pleadingly. “This doesn’t make any sense- why are we talking about-”

“Now, y’see, I call bullshit there. What about good ol’  _ Donghae- _ that’s a fucking textbook crush right there.” Jongin’s panting hitches at that name, face flaring out of habit. “Oh! Look at that guilty face!”

“You’re… No- you’re insane,” Jongin mutters, the whole world tilting sideways, hand shaking as he clutches onto the corner of the building.

“I should have called this years ago!” he hears Taemin jeer, distant sirens amplified in Jongin’s ears, fluorescent signs ahead blearing together. “Hey, remember when we bumped into him on campus that one time? And you went all red and couldn’t say a  _ fucking  _ thing?” 

“He- He was our senior,” Jongin wheezes out, fist clenched on his thrashing stomach, wishing that this wasn’t happening- that he was anywhere else- “I just admired him a lot- as a dancer-”

“Bull-fucking-shit, you  _ liked _ him!”

“I didn’t-” Jongin swears, hysteria crawling like insects under his skin, wringing his throat shut. “There’s no way I did-”

“C’mon, man, don’t get so worked up. Being gay ain’t that bad-” 

“I know-” Gasping for air, Jongin’s chest is in shreds, the pressure threatening to break apart his ribcage- “But I’m not-

“Wait. Holy crap!” Taemin suddenly exclaims. “Now you and Sehun can finally get together! You’re only five years late, huh?”

“Stop it-” Jongin whispers out, barely hearing himself under the deafening thrashing of his brain- tearing through years and years of memories for an answer that he doesn’t want-

“Hey, if he ain’t your type, you can just fool around a little. You got no shot at Donghae though, sorry, man,” Taemin says with a cackle, and Jongin feels like he’s going to burst- his sight blacking out- unable to take anymore- “But Sehun will totally still be down. Both of you fucking  _ need  _ to get some dick, that’s for sure-”

“Just  _ stop,” _ Jongin cries out- rounding back and making a blind grab for Taemin-

“Ow- fuck!” Taemin barks, his hand wrenched out of Jongin’s grasp. “You just burned me!” 

Heaving down cleared air, Jongin stumbles away from him, blinking around desperately to adjust to the new darkness. The city is long gone, everything around them fallen completely silent and still, the horizons of the night set low and far away. As a warm breeze rushes over him, cooling the sweat on his skin, Jongin feels a relieved smile pull at his lips, finally able to breathe the scent of fresh dirt deep into his lungs. 

“Jesus motherfucker- are you fucking kidding me right now, Jongin?” Taemin hisses out, but Jongin isn’t listening.

Out here in this open field, where the ground is soft under his soles, Jongin can spread his arms to meet the wind, feeling his pulse fade back. Turning in a circle, his gaze follows the trail of moonlight, brushed along the navy blue curves of low mountains and the uneven tops of forests. In the distance, one lone square of yellow light shines from a second storey window, and Jongin leans his head back to see the gradient of the sky turn to black above him, mouth dropping open in awe. He hasn’t been able to see the stars in years, but here, there are hundreds of tiny sparkles dotted across the entire galaxy, the crescent moon nestled amongst them, and for one moment, he can soak in all of the peace and beauty, his worn mind laid to rest.

“- oi!” Taemin yells, Jongin feeling the punch to his side before Taemin’s voice tunes back in. “I know you can hear me, dammit! I’ve got my friends back there waiting for me, and I ain’t one to disappear on them, so you better get us out of here,  _ now- _ ”

And before Jongin realizes what’s happening, he’s being pulled backwards, cut off mid-inhale as the stars flare out in the brightness of the sun, his eyes burned shut, and hands flying up too late to shield them.

“Fucking great! Where the fuck is this shithole?” Taemin shouts, only an unseen dog barking back as Jongin rubs at his face, the smell of urine clogging his nose. “I swear to God, if this ain’t a taxi ride from Yeoksam-dong, I’m gonna be so pissed at you.”

Squinting around at the narrow lane they’ve appeared in, the air tight in between old buildings and tangles of telephone poles, Jongin faces Taemin’s back as he marches away. 

“Hey, you coming?” Taemin calls out, pausing to throw a glance back at him. When Jongin firmly stands his ground, fists curling at his sides, he watches the annoyance flicker over his friend’s dimly lit face. 

“Yeah, of course not,” Taemin says sarcastically, grabbing his phone out of his pocket as he walks off, Jongin turning away from him. “Hey-” 

The rest of Taemin’s call drones out to nothing, Jongin left alone under the glitching light bulbs lined along the alley. Letting out a harsh sigh, he starts down the other way, his heavy steps dragged along the concrete, too weak to stop himself from grazing against the walls. He was meant to stay over at Taemin’s, except the only thing he can do anymore is try and find his way back to Bangbae-dong, to collapse in bed for hours of restless nothing until he gives up on the idea of sleeping for another night.

The last energy has been drained out of him, his mind defeated and sober, heart hollowed out, and Jongin stares up at the bleak sky, pitch-black from wherever he’s ended up. 

But it doesn’t matter how far from home he is, right now, because Jongin isn’t any more lost than before. 

 

△

It’s Taemin’s idea to go to Sehun’s house the week after, and Jongin doesn’t have any right to complain. He hasn’t seen Sehun since the night of the showcase, which was almost a month ago, now, and the few times Sehun had texted him, Jongin had brushed him off with some shitty excuse. After that, Sehun hasn’t tried to contact him, so as much as Jongin doesn’t want to explain himself, he lets Taemin drag him over after a failed trip to an island stuffed with coconut trees. Honestly, Jongin can’t remember the last time he hung out with Sehun. With him and Taemin both starting university that year, along with Jongin’s intense training regime, it’s not like they ever had the time to catch up.

The walk over hits Jongin with a low pang of nostalgia, taking him back to middle school, just before he’d gotten Hyukjae to be his private ballet coach and had extended his hours, leaving Sehun behind in the advanced classes. Sehun’s house was the closest to the dance studio, so after a practice session on the weekends, the three of them would go to his place afterwards to play video games and stuff their faces with whatever was in his fridge.

That’s exactly what they do this time. Sehun has a literal bookshelf of games for his five different consoles, and after five minutes of trying to teach them how to play _Splatoon_ , Taemin decides that’s too boring. So they end up lounging on Sehun’s couches, scarfing down leftover pizza and battling on _Soul Calibur_ with the hideous custom characters they’d made years back. It’s like nothing’s changed at all, and Jongin’s 15 again, getting ready to give his whole life up to ballet.

“Oh, fuck me!” Taemin bellows out, having just gotten knocked out by another one of Sehun’s deadly combos.

“Sorry, bro,” Sehun says, not looking very sorry at all.

Video games have always been Sehun’s thing, leaving the other two without a shot at winning. Jongin’s already been knocked out one too many times today, and he silently sulks, arms firmly crossed against his chest. At least he gets the satisfaction of seeing Taemin suck, too, and smirks as his friend throws his controller onto the coffee table with slightly too much force. They haven’t versed each other yet, but just the thought has Jongin’s lungs lit up in flames.

Like always, Sehun is oblivious to all the competitiveness in the room, and he turns back to Jongin who’s lying on the couch next to theirs. “Jongin, your go?”

“I’m sick of this game,” Taemin cuts in, and Jongin clenches his jaw. “Let’s do something else.”

“Alright…” Sehun stretches his arms over his head, thinking. “Do you want to play a shooter game? Mario Kart?”

“Let’s just talk or something,” Taemin answers as he reaches for a new can of Coke. “‘Cause it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

Jongin furrows his eyebrows at Taemin, who just raises one back at him. It’s a very not Taemin-like thing to suggest, and they end up sitting in an awkward silence because of it. 

“So,” Sehun starts, scratching his head. “What’s up?” he says to no one in particular.

“Good question! Why don’t you ask Jongin?” Taemin insists, his eyes crinkling in mischief. Clearly confused, Sehun turns his question to Jongin, who doesn’t even have time to give some lame answer before Taemin’s cut in again. “Yeah, Jongin. Tell him the news.”

Huffing out a dark sigh, Jongin glares over at him. He’s doesn’t know if Taemin’s talking about the gay thing- which Jongin is more confused about than ever after watching some of the uncalled-for links that Taemin’s sent him- or if this is about the teleportation thing. Either way, it’s annoying.

“What news?” he asks bluntly.

“Seriously, man? C’mon, don’t make me have to do it,” Taemin says in fake-annoyance, and Jongin just rolls his eyes.

It’s not like he has any real reason to keep things from Sehun. “Be my guest,” he clips, and Taemin grins ten times brighter.

Leaning in so that he’s right next to Sehun’s ear, Taemin points at Jongin. “That guy over there?” he whispers, still loud enough for Jongin to hear over the whir of the aircon. “He’s the newest X-Man.”

“What do you mean?” Sehun asks, whispering too.

“Well, long story short, Jongin can teleport now.” Is that the only introduction that he gets? Jongin gives Taemin an exasperated look that he just shrugs to.

“Really?” Sehun breathes out, his eyes wide in awe. Sehun’s always been the most gullible of them, and so Taemin’s pulled a lot of (mostly) harmless pranks on him. It’s a wonder that he still believes him now, without even an ounce of proof.

“Legit, man,” Taemin insists. “We’ve been around half the world by now. Just a tap and we can end up, like, _anywhere_.”

“But how? How is that possible?” Sehun asks, and Jongin can’t give him an answer.

“It just happens when I touch someone,” is all he says.

“We’ve got no idea,” Taemin adds on. “But it’s really fucking cool.” Jongin can’t help but smirk.

“I wanna try it,” Sehun says, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “Can you take me?”

“Fuck, let’s all go together!” Taemin exclaims, and Jongin stares at the arms that they both extend to him, taken aback.

"I don’t know if it works with three people,” he states bluntly, and Sehun’s face instantly falls. With a sigh, Jongin moves over so that he’s sitting on the coffee table, and looks between both of them. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“On ‘go’ we grab him!” Taemin hollers. “Ready, set, go!” Jongin’s wrists are both latched onto with too much force- and nothing changes. “Dammit, Jongin! Control your powers.”

“But-” Jongin’s a bit surprised- how much more different can it be to teleport with two people? “I didn’t say it would work.”

“Just take Sehun for a spin and text me,” Taemin insists before he lets go, and Sehun tries unattaching and reattaching his hand. There’s no difference.

“Are you guys pranking me?” Sehun asks, jumping back in sudden shock.

“No!” Taemin lets out an offended scoff. “God, Sehun, how could you even accuse us of that? Jongin’s just _broken_.”

“Am not,” Jongin snaps. “It worked fine this morning.”

“No- you know what, let me tr-” And the second Taemin’s touched his arm- they’re gasping and falling down onto wooden floorboards with nothing to catch them.

“Fuck, god- gimme some warning next time,” Taemin complains, rubbing at his sore ass. “That shit hurts, man.”

Jongin’s too busy whipping his head around frantically to even care about the pain stabbing at his back. They’re trapped in a thin corridor, surrounded by white walls and framed pictures and this has to be the first time Jongin’s ever landed in someone else’s home. If they get caught, they could be in deep shit- fuck they could even be _arrested_.

“We have to get out of here,” he hisses at Taemin, barely waiting for his reaction before he’s jumped to his feet and making his way down the hallway as quietly as he can.

What must be the front or back door is just around the corner, and he ushers for Taemin to hurry the hell up. He’s getting up way too slowly and Jongin’s practically seething- and then he’s gasping and frantic because the sound of a door creaking echoes out. He and Taemin share a wide-eyed look before Taemin scrambles after him and they’re both sprinting for the door, hurling it open and running out onto the street.

Jongin swears that he hears something called out to them over the sound of his panting- and he makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder at the guy that’s standing in the house’s driveway, waving threateningly. Fixing his eyes ahead, they don’t stop running until they’re two blocks down and Jongin’s got a stitch and sore lungs weighing him down.

“Shit-” Taemin wheezes out. “That was terrifying.”

Jongin just nods breathlessly, taking his phone out of his back pocket that, thank god, he hadn’t left in his backpack. The GPS tells him that they’re in Gangnam, which is ages from Sehun’s house, and the rest of Jongin’s stuff. But that would explain why there are mansions lining both sides of the street, every house at least twice the size of Jongin’s own.

“It’s already four o’clock, and Sehun lives half an hour away,” Jongin says to Taemin who’s peering at the map over his shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s call it a day,” he agrees, and Jongin’s already opened up his text messages to send Sehun an explanation.

 _Sorry dude. We ended up halfway across the city :/ catch up later_ **Sent: 16:12PM**  

The nearest bus stop is only a short walk away, and he and Taemin split off at the interchange to find their separate rides. Jongin gets home earlier than usual that day, and he locks himself in his room before anyone in his family notices.

 


	4. Acte I - 3. L'entree de l'amant: Adagio

 

[❀](http://8tracks.com/kaisoochateau/running-home-3-first-love)

 

  
  
It’s only been two days. Two days since Jongin last saw Taemin- but he can’t stop his hands from shaking, can’t stop the splinters digging into his head and the water that’s filling up his lungs, drowning him. Ever since the day after they’d last teleported, he’s felt on edge, barely able to stomach anything or get an hour of sleep. All his dreams are flashes of colors and cities, too vivid, too bright, and Jongin wakes countless times every night, always jerking awake in a panic.

It’s getting worse- and everything he looked up points to withdrawal symptoms. But it’s impossible for Jongin to know if this is just a passing thing, or if it’s something far more dangerous. He’s so  _mad_  at himself, at this power that he knows nothing about, that he’s been using way too much, that could have repercussions Jongin never even considered.

And he doesn’t have any idea on how to stop it. Right now, all Jongin can do is clench his fists together and try and breathe through every jolt of the bus that tears at his insides. He’d practically had to beg Taemin to meet up before his shift tonight, just so that he could have a few hours of peace. It’s only a ten minute trip to their normal meeting place, the halfway point between both their houses, but Jongin can barely keep himself from falling to pieces.

The second he can, he’s sprinting off the bus, narrowly avoiding another passenger. The sun is merciless, today, and Jongin wipes the sweat pouring from his forehead as he stumbles down the familiar alleyway, his breaths shaking.

Taemin’s leaning against the same spot as always, eyes fixed on his phone when Jongin barges up to him.

“Let’s go,” he says, skipping any greeting and making a grab for Taemin’s bare arm.

“Hey- hey, slow down,” Taemin urges as he steps just out of reach. “Shit, man. You don’t look good.”

“Sorry,” Jongin bites out. Taemin stands still, looking at him with concern and Jongin just huffs out a short breath. “Can we go now?”

“Look, I gotta talk to you about something-“

“Why?” Jongin seethes out. “Why now?”

“Control your moodiness for just one second, okay?” Jongin glares at Taemin, venom burning at his tongue as he waits for him to stop scratching at his neck and speak. “You know what the date is today, right?"

Jongin barks out a laugh, humorless, fuming. “Don’t you fucking start.” Of course Jongin knows. It’s July 15th, the day of the live auditions in New York as they make the final decision of the 24 students they’ll be accepting. It’s the step Taemin got to skip, the step Jongin didn’t even get close to.

“Look- it’s the last day to apply for SeoulArts for next year,” Taemin states, and Jongin might have known that if he’d read through the guide his parents had left on his desk, instead of throwing it in the trash the second he saw it. “Now hear me out, man. You’d have no problem getting in, seriously!” Jongin just scoffs. He doesn’t  _care_  and he rolls his head back in agitation. “They’ll take one look at your resume and all those fucking awards, the whole shitton of shows you’ve been in- like come on, man. On stage with the fucking National Ballet at nine fucking years old? They can’t turn that down! And yeah, I get it. I know it ain’t Juilliard-“ Fire seers at Jongin’s chest, his fists clenching hard. “But you’ll do awesome! Trust me, man, you’ll fit right in with all of us, I bet my life on it.”  _How dare he-_  “And we’d probably have half our classes together, so I’ll show you around and get you in with all the coaches and-”

“ _No_ , no- god, are you kidding me?” Taemin looks at him, mouth half open in shock, and Jongin cracks. “I’m not going to be stuck in your fucking shadow again,” he blurts out, all his anger choking his words. “Do you- do you not know how shitty it was being in the same studio as you? How glad I was that you left so that everyone could stop comparing every tiny move I made-“

“Oh fuck you,” Taemin spits out, shoving Jongin back so that he almost stumbles. “I’m just trying to help you here so that you could get off your ass and actually fucking do something! Look, you needed a holiday more than anyone, but now what? You just gonna do fuck-all for the rest of your life?”

“I’ll do whatever I want, okay- I get enough of this shit from my parents and I don’t need it from you-”

“Fine!” Taemin shouts, and just as Jongin’s spun around, ready to stalk off, Taemin’s voice softens. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

Letting out a harsh breath, Jongin looks back at him, at the regret scarring his face. It’s not the first time he’s ever lashed out at Taemin, and it probably won’t be the last. But right now- he needs him.

“Same here,” Jongin says, the flames inside him slowly dying to embers.

As a peace offering, Taemin raises one of his hands. “We’ve got two hours, okay? No crazy shit.”

“Deal,” Jongin agrees, and he grabs onto him, plunging them both into shadows and green.

His first instinct is to look up to the sky, now hidden behind endless tangled branches and green foliage, only a few metres taller than them both. A smile pulls at his lips. The air here is cooler, easier to breathe, and Jongin fills up his lungs, his whole body lighter now. Birds are chirping loudly, wind rustling leaves, a distant stream runs with water, and he can’t help but raise his camera and take a quick shot of the scenery.

“Alright, classic forest,” Taemin says, briefly making eye contact with him. “Let’s have a look around.” And the second he turns away and takes a step- Jongin gasps, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him back. “What the- oh  _fuck_.”

Carved into the brown forest floor is a massive tear that Taemin had almost walked straight into, just wide enough to have swallowed both him and Jongin alive. It’s like an actual wound in the earth, with jagged edges and smaller cracks spidering out from the sides. Jongin’s common sense tells him to back away from the ledge, but he can’t resist peering over to have a look into the chasm, at the endless black that stares back at him. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before, and all he can remember is the faultlines he’d learnt about in geology. This one runs further than Jongin can see in either direction, which must mean something bad. He lets out a long breath, one he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Okay, I definitely can’t be pissed at you since you probably saved my life,” Taemin jokes, stepping out of Jongin’s hold. “God, this place got creepy real fast- just imagine the fucking amount of things that could crawl out of there.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Jongin says, shuddering. It’s been ages since he finished  _The Walking Dead_ , but now his brain’s flooding him with images of walkers.

“I say we go that way,” Taemin points behind them both, at the expanse of thin, crooked tree trunks and bright, green leaves that stretches as far as Jongin can make out. “Try and figure out what continent this is, for a start.”

“But- shouldn’t we check this thing out better?” Jongin is met with a wide-eyed look, and he tries to explain himself. “I mean- shouldn’t we try and work out how it got here?”

“Um, duh, from an earthquake? It could be centuries old for all we know, and I ain’t keen to trip and fall into it.”

Jongin doesn’t know why, but there’s something pulling at his heart, something about the air here that sends tiny sparks skittering down his arms. “Isn’t there a weird... energy in this place? I- don’t know how else to say it.”

“I’m not seein’ it, man.”

“Wait- listen.” Underneath the birds, the wind, the stream- Jongin swears there’s another sound- a low, continuous note that thrums at his heart rather than his ears. “Can you feel it?”

Taemin just raises his eyebrows at him, clearly lost. “What are you tripping on and where did you buy that shit?”

Jongin doesn’t bother replying. Instead, he turns and starts to march alongside the faultline, his sandals crunching on old leaves as he walks towards where the noise rings stronger. From behind him, Taemin begrudgingly follows his lead, the whole time making sure Jongin knows how unhappy he is with this decision. It’s easy to tune Taemin out because Jongin is so sure that he’s not imagining this- this feeling that-

This forest is  _too_  alive. The trees move in a way the wind can’t be causing, almost as if they’re growing, their branches inching outwards and closer to the sky. Jongin knows he can’t be imagining it because the canopy above them has become far thicker, blocking out almost all of the sun’s rays. Once they’ve travelled far enough, Jongin sees that roots have breached above the earth, and Taemin keeps almost tripping over them. Like thin veins that bleed out from the main trunk, their pointed tips - dozens from each tree - move along the forest bed at the most peaceful pace. Taemin screams in pure horror when Jongin points this out to him. But it’s so breath-taking to him- the roots are crossing and knotting over the rift to form a long bridge that Jongin rests a foot on, testing its strength.

“Okay-” Taemin pants out, his breathing short and rushed. “There is no way we ain’t stuck in some shit-ass horror movie right now, called like  _The Root Of All Evil_  or something- god, can we leave yet?”

“No, no way. We’ve come this far, we have to keep walking,” Jongin insists, stepping back onto solid ground. Ignoring Taemin’s protests, he presses onwards.

Jongin doesn’t know when, but at some point, he loses his grip on the sound, leaving them to dart around the trees and try to keep their balance on the dips and bumps of the ground, now entirely covered in the web of overlapped roots.

“I swear to fucking god, man, you’re going to get us both killed,” Taemin hisses.

“There has to be something here- or someone- how else could this be possible?” Jongin asks, and with a brief look around, at the trunks that stretch high above them, the darkened shadows that cover the secrets of this forest- he calls out. “Hey! Is there any-”

“ _Shit_!”

Before Jongin can even react, there are green arrows shooting down from the sky and he’s falling backwards - backpack flying off and his body left battered and splaying out on the hard wood. The arrows- vines- covered in leaves- hover above him in an alien-like manner and Jongin barely stutters in a breath, barely shuts his eyes for the attack. But instead of stabbing pain, he feels soft caresses, playing across his cheeks and neck. This is  _impossible_ , and Jongin can’t stop himself from smiling, instantly relaxing on the solid roots as the impact of the fall fades, now replaced with ticklish touches that have Jongin giggling.

“Jongin get the fuck up before they strangle you-” Taemin splutters out, and Jongin just shakes his head in wonder, his fingers tangling with one of the green ropes.

“They’re nice,” Jongin assures.

“They like you,” a man’s voice states, making Taemin screech before Jongin’s even lifted his head to look for where it came from.

“Who the hell’s here?” Taemin demands, and Jongin shuffles to sit up, the vines helping to support his back and head.

From behind one of the nearest trees, a boy steps into sight, and Jongin’s heart immediately jumps into his throat. He has to be around the same age as Jongin, with a mess of black hair falling into his narrowed eyes, his expression dark as he steps closer to them. Holding his breath, Jongin watches as the boy kneels next to him, scrutinizing his face so intensely that Jongin burns red. Unlike himself, this boy’s skin is perfectly clear, and the vines loosen their hold on Jongin to glide over and pet his smooth, tanned cheeks.

“Who are you?” he asks. His voice is deep and rich and Jongin can’t find any words, all of them stuck somewhere in his bone-dry mouth.

“Who the hell are you is a better question?” Taemin spits out, his tone accusing and Jongin will seriously punch him if he scares this guy off.

“Kyungsoo,” the boys answers, leaves dancing prettily along his hair, his eyes never leaving Jongin’s. “Your turn.”

“Taemin. And Jongin,” his friend answers with a kick to Jongin’s back. “Now what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kyungsoo states blankly, slitting his eyes at Taemin. Jongin coughs awkwardly, trying to wake up his throat.

“Are you controlling them- the- vines-” he asks hoarsely.

“No, they do whatever they want,” Kyungsoo explains. “But I asked them to check if you were threats.”

“So- you- talked to them?” Eyes wide, Jongin stares at the way Kyungsoo shares a knowing frown with the vine circling above his head. “You can talk to them,” he repeats, awestruck.

“I call bullshit,” Taemin cuts in, earning himself another deathly glare. “What are they saying right now, then?”

“Nothing you’d understand,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin lets out a light laugh. This is so,  _so_  impossible. “How did you get here?” he asks, his harsh eyes boring into Jongin.

“You might not believe me if I tell you,” Jongin jokes, knowing fully well that if Kyungsoo can  _talk to plants_ , then of course he will. Sure enough, the boy just rolls his eyes. “I- um.” It’s a lot more awkward to say out loud than Jongin expected it to be. “I kind of… teleported us here?”

“I see.”

Jongin waits for him to say something more, for any hint of a reaction, but Kyungsoo’s face is stone-cold. “So, um- that means-” Jongin’s heart leaps at the revelation, his lungs filling with hope. “That means we’re the same, aren’t we?

“Not really,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin blinks at him. “There’s nothing similar about us.”

“But- but you- I haven’t met anyone else with a crazy superpower-”

“What superpower?” Kyungsoo asks, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “This is normal, I’ve always been able to speak to plants.” Taemin squawks somewhere in the background but Jongin pays no attention to him, his brain racing at a million thoughts a second.

“But- surely we can help each other, so we can better understand these- not-normal things that we can do?”

“I already understand them perfectly.”

“But  _I_  don’t!” Jongin exclaims, the unending panic rising up his throat too fast, too soon. He has to take a deep, shuddered breath to stop himself from getting on his hands and knees and begging. “You’re seriously the closest thing I’ve found to- to being like me and there must be  _some_  way you can help, right?” At Kyungsoo’s frown, Jongin groans, grabbing at his hair in frustration until the vines wrap around his wrists and pull his hands away. Peering up through his fringe, he meets Kyungsoo’s dark gaze again. “Just I need to know more- about your- about you.  _Please_.”

Kyungsoo takes a moment to look up to the sky, his eyes closing and the wind lifting tufts of his messy hair. “You should come back to my house,” he decides. “It isn’t far from here.”

“Okay,” Jongin agrees, slightly startled, but with relief spreading through his lungs.

“Yeah, hold up- why should we trust you enough to follow you?” Taemin demands, and Jongin squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. “And why can’t we talk out here- why does it have to be at your house that might be a torture chamber for all we know?”

“Because there’s food there and I’m hungry,” Kyungsoo states, as if the answer was obvious. “Come this way.”

Taemin lets out a long groan, but Kyungsoo is unfazed as he stands and turns to head in the direction the two of them had been following. With Kyungsoo gone, the vines retreat upwards, back into the foliage to wrap around the shortest branches, and Jongin really regrets that he couldn’t have captured a picture of it all.

Finding his footing amongst the roots, he hauls himself back up and grabs his bag before he starts to follow Kyungsoo’s lead. But Taemin slows him down, his hand gripping onto the back of Jongin’s singlet.

“You can’t seriously trust this guy, can you?” Taemin murmurs, voice dark and serious against Jongin’s ear.

“Of course I do.” Jongin declares. A distance is stretching out between them, and Jongin keeps his eyes fixed on the back of Kyungsoo’s red and white plaid shirt so that they won’t get separated. It’s not a hard task, since the colors sticks out so obviously from the background of brown and green. “He seems nice.”

“ _Nice_?” Taemin squawks. “Whenever he looks at me it’s like he’s trying to skin me alive!”

“Just give him a chance,” Jongin says, and he offers Taemin a smile. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.” It’s true. He gets nothing but good vibes from Kyungsoo, the kind that wash through his chest like cool water, making him completely calm.

“That’s real comforting, man. Except that I don’t trust you  _or_  your malfunctional Spidey sense,” Taemin grumbles, but he still trudges after Jongin when he picks up his pace up, lightly jogging to catch up to Kyungsoo.

A smile curves at Jongin’s lips as he gets close enough to note that he’s a whole head taller than Kyungsoo. It’s mostly because the boy’s got a hunch, compared to the dead-straight posture Jongin’s had ingrained in him, but now there’s zero chance he could find Kyungsoo intimidating. “So, where are we?” Jongin asks, falling into step right next to him.

“Gochang county,” Kyungsoo states, not even bothering to spare him a glance.

“That’s weird,” Jongin muses. Gochang isn’t even a three hour drive from Seoul, and it’s not like he’d teleported earlier that day. Even if it does explain the Jeolla dialect that punctuates the end of Kyungsoo’s verbs, somehow it wasn’t what he was expecting. Clearing his throat, Jongin figures he should try and explain what he meant. “I mean, normally I end up a lot farther from home.”

“Where’s home?” Kyungsoo asks, his voice as monotone as ever. But Jongin takes the fact that he’s curious at all as a good sign.

“We’re from Seoul.” Jongin doesn’t miss the distasteful scoff Kyungsoo lets out, or the grimace that pulls at his face.

“City people, of course,” he mutters.

“You’re not a fan of big cities?” Jongin asks, confused.

“You could say that,” Kyungsoo clips, and Jongin lets the subject drop.

A silence settles between them, the sounds of the forest growing weak as the trees thin out ahead of them, leaving the three of them alone with the sounds of their footsteps. Jongin’s eyes scour over the ground, now scattered with less hazardous roots they could trip over. But he’s more worried about the gaping holes left in their wake, the tear that they’re walking alongside now exposed and haunting.

“That faultline,” Jongin starts, turning back to Kyungsoo. “Do you know how it got here?”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers simply.

After a long moment of silence, Jongin tries again. “So- how did it get here?”

When Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, atmosphere quickly turned for the worse, Jongin awkwardly turns away. Of all the questions he could have asked, of course he picks the wrong one. Deciding to shut up, Jongin bites his lip and fixes his eyes ahead, where he can make out patches of light shining between the dark silhouettes of the trees.

It isn’t long before they reach the edge of the forest, opening up onto a bright stretch of tall grass. Between the two fields is a dirt path that Kyungsoo leads them down, split in half by the thin crack. Here it’s only a few inches wide, but Jongin still watches his step so he doesn’t get his foot caught.

As they keep walking, the summer heat burning at Jongin’s skin, the grass is replaced by soil, and then row upon row of large cabbage heads planted on either side of them.

“That’s a shitton of veggies,” Taemin comments, intelligent as ever.

“My family grows them,” Kyungsoo explains. “This is all our land, and our house is just up ahead.” In the distance, Jongin can make out the shape of white and grey that Kyungsoo’s pointing to, and he sighs in relief, desperate to get out of this heat.

They follow the path until the end, to the point where the faultline first breaks out of the solid ground, thin as a thread, just outside of Kyungsoo’s home. There’s no way it could be a coincidence, and Jongin makes a silent memo to himself to look it up later.

Sitting by the edge of another forest, it’s a simple two-storey house made up of white planks, with large windows opening out from every wall. Jongin doesn’t miss the fact that instead of glass, each window is covered by thin sheets of what looks like wax paper, not entirely see-through.

Kyungsoo leads them inside without hesitation, toeing his sneakers off and leaving them on the front porch as Jongin and Taemin do the same. Indoors is barely cooler than out in the sun, and Jongin can’t imagine how they manage to survive without air conditioning, even if there is a breeze running through the house. Not even glancing back at them, Kyungsoo makes a beeline towards the kitchen, straight through the undecorated living room, and Taemin and Jongin have no choice but to follow. All the furniture Jongin can see is run-down and scratched- even the fridge that Kyungsoo’s rummaging through has to be a decade old, judging by the yellow stains on it’s doors.

“Hungry?” Kyungsoo asks, turning back to them while holding a raw cabbage the size of his head.

“Um, I’ll pass,” Taemin says while Jongin stares on in shock as Kyungsoo shrugs and takes a massive bite from the vegetable. “How can you even eat that- I mean isn’t it one of your buddies?”

“Circle of life,” Kyungsoo counters, his mouth still full of leaves.

Taemin gives Jongin one of his ‘this guy is clearly insane’ looks before he gives himself permission to hop onto one of the barstools, without any invitation. “Well, get to the questions, Nini. We ain’t got all day.”

Jongin barely has a chance to glare at Taemin for using his stupid nickname, before he’s burning under Kyungsoo’s expectant stare. “Okay- um.” He gestures vaguely. “Tell me about how you can talk to plants.”

“ _If_  you can talk to plants,” Taemin corrects.

“There isn’t not much to it,” Kyungsoo says, leaning his back against the fridge door. “They talk. I listen. I reply.” He turns his gaze to the ceiling for a moment. “Trees are the loudest, and the nosiest, but they’re the most trust-worthy. Just as long as you don’t listen to ferns, you’ll be fine.”

“A-alright,” Jongin stutters out as Taemin snickers from behind him. He must be loving this, Jongin thinks grumpily, but he has to keep trying. “So you can ask them to do things, right? Like- those vines- you asked that tree to send them. But a tree can’t- do that kind of thing on it’s own, can it?”

“Of course they can’t,” Kyungsoo states, offended. “Where would they get that kind of energy from? They have to save it.”

“Right- so you must be doing something!” Jongin exclaims, finally latching onto something.

“Well, obviously.”

“How? How did you do that-” Jongin recalls the roots, the branches, everything in the heart of the forest moving in synchronization. “How can you make trees grow?”

“A transfer of energy,” Kyungsoo answers.

“Could you always do that? Like how you can talk to them?”

“That shit’s not proven,” Taemin cuts it.

“The trees just told me to one day,” Kyungsoo declares, tossing his cabbage core into one of the compost bins lined up on the benchtop. “This is getting boring. Tell me about your teleporting, now.”

“But we’re onto something!” Jongin protests, earning a grimace from Kyungsoo.

“Hardly. Tell me how you got your power.”

Knowing that Kyungsoo isn’t going to let it go, Jongin groans, his head falling back in defeat. It’s not exactly going to be easy to explain, because Jongin can’t tell him how or why it happened. He only knows the place and time, and that leads onto all the ballet stuff and him screwing up the biggest opportunity in his life. Jongin hasn’t breathed a word about that night, not to anyone- not even to Taemin, who he really wishes wasn’t here right now. Sucking in a deep breath, Jongin tries to pull his thoughts together.

“It’s…”

“A long story,” Taemin cuts in. “One that we ain’t got time for it, because I’ve got work tonight.” He gives Jongin a pointed look, and Jongin doesn’t know whether to be thankful or pissed off.

“That’s a shame,” Kyungsoo says, voice so even that Jongin can’t tell if he actually thinks so.

“Yep. So you two work out some way to talk, or whatever,” Taemin suggests, his interest turned to his phone.

As he meets Kyungsoo’s dark eyes, Jongin takes a dive, the words tumbling out of him breathy and rushed. “Come with me- back to Seoul.”

“Absolutely not,” Kyungsoo shoots back.

“Just ‘til we figure this out,” Jongin pleads, taking a step closer to him.

“You won’t find only one answer,” Kyungsoo says, his gaze piercing.

“But- we have to start somewhere,” Jongin decides, and before he can stop himself, he closes the distance and grabs at Kyungsoo’s hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kyungsoo demands, low and threatening, only a breath away from Jongin’s face.

“Wait, shit- were you seriously just gonna abandon me here?” Taemin squawks out from behind.

They haven’t moved an inch, and Jongin groans in frustration, letting go of Kyungsoo and whipping back to glare at Taemin. “Shut up- I would have come back for you-”

“How?!”

“I don’t know!” Jongin snaps. He hadn’t thought that far ahead and-  _great_ , now they’re both mad at him. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says, more to Kyungsoo’s narrowed gaze than to Taemin. “I just wanted... I don’t know.”

“Can’t you just get his phone number, like a normal person?” Taemin protests, making Jongin squeeze his eyes shut in shame. That was probably a better idea.

“Okay, what’s your number?” Jongin sighs out, unzipping his backpack and taking his phone out.

“I only use my phone for emergencies,” Kyungsoo states.

“What- but this  _is_  an emergency!” Jongin insists.

“I also don’t give my number to strangers.”

With a long groan, Jongin fishes out a pen and a crumpled receipt from the messed-up depths of his bag. Resting on the nearest counter top, he scrawls down his name and number before passing it to Kyungsoo, who begrudgingly takes it. “Please call me.”

“We’ll see,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his head turning to face the window. “I can’t make any promises, but-” Taking small steps towards it, a gentle breeze sifting through his hair, Kyungsoo speaks softly. “The trees want me to go with you, but I’m not sure.”

“Well, let me know when you pick.” Jongin says, just as Taemin steps up to him, motioning to the time on his watch. There’s nothing more Jongin can do. “I’ll- I’ll wait for your call, alright?”

And with one last look over the dingy room, over the profile of the boy who won’t turn to face them, they disappear.

 

❀

 

Kyungsoo calls three days later, just when Jongin was starting to give up hope of ever hearing from him again.

At the time, Jongin’s lying on his bed, flipping from his back onto his stomach every few minutes to try and throw off the weight that’s digging into his ribcage. It’s useless, though, and knowing that Taemin’s busy tomorrow, too, has Jongin barely keeping his panic in check. The Japanese DS game he’d borrowed off Sehun isn’t doing much to help calm him down, either, because he keeps getting stuck. Normally if he got desperate enough, Jongin could ask Sehun for help and wouldn’t need to be looking up walkthroughs. But since Jongin still hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why he can’t hang out today, texting Sehun isn’t an option.

He’s just about ready to give up on another impossible battle when his phone vibrates. Grabbing it off his bedside table, Jongin frowns at the unfamiliar number. His mind jumps straight to a picture of Kyungsoo before he can stop it, but he knows there’s no point in getting his hopes up.

“Hello?” he answers.

The other line buzzes with the drone of a distant crowd, and it takes a moment before the caller speaks. “Is this Jongin?”

His voice is deep, tone completely flat, and Jongin bolts upright. “Yes, who’s calling?”

“Kyungsoo.”

Grinning ear to ear, Jongin leans back against his bedframe. “What’s up?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

“The trees are mad at me and it’s all your fault,” Kyungsoo deadpans.

“Hey, what did I do?” Jongin defends.

“They won’t forgive me until I go and meet you in the city.”

“Hold on- so, does that mean-”

“I’m at Jeongeup Station right now.”

This is too good to be true, and Jongin laughs, breathless. “When’s your ride?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never caught a train before,” Kyungsoo states.

Somehow, Jongin isn’t surprised. “Okay, give me a second.” It doesn’t take long for him to get the train timetable up on his laptop and rattle off the short list. “If you got the tickets now, you could probably make the 3 o’clock one,” he suggests.

“Where do I find the tickets?”

“A main desk? I don’t know, ask someone.”

Jongin can hear nothing but shuffling and low murmurs for a few minutes, giving his heart enough time to slow back to normal. He’s almost starting to get worried when the line crackles again. “I bought a ticket,” Kyungsoo says.

“Great- awesome! Now go to the gate and wait for them to start boarding.”

“Where’s Gate 2?”

“I don’t know, Kyungsoo, I can’t see the station. Go ask someone else.”

This time when Kyungsoo disappears, Jongin starts button-mashing on his DS again, still with no luck in defeating the boss on his screen.

“It’s boarding in five minutes,” Kyungsoo says when he returns to the phone.

“Alright, just stay put until then,” Jongin instructs.

“What time does the train arrive back at Jeongeup tonight?” Kyungsoo asks, and it takes a second for Jongin to realize what he means.

“Wait- you can’t seriously be leaving that fast!” he protests, his thoughts spinning.

“But I have nowhere to sleep, and I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“You can sleep at my house,” Jongin insists. “And I’ve got plenty of clothes you can borrow.” The other line is silent, and Jongin sighs. “There’s no way we can get anywhere if you’re only staying one night.” Even if Jongin has no idea what they’re actually meant to do, surely it’s going to need a couple days.

“Okay, three nights,” Kyungsoo bargains. “Three nights and then I’m coming home. If the air pollution hasn’t kill me by then.”

“Hey, it isn’t-” Jongin stops, remembering how clear the sky is anywhere else he ends up. “You’ll get used to it.”

Kyungsoo just lets out a noise of disgust before he speaks again. “People are queuing up.”

“Go join the line, then,” Jongin says.

“I’ll have to tell my parents I’m staying longer,” Kyungsoo states, and a pang of guilt hits Jongin’s heart.

“You can tell them that it’s my fault and that I’m sorry, but it’s for a good cause.” Kind of.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be fine with it. They were thrilled when I told them I was leaving, especially my grandma.”

Jongin can just picture the frown on Kyungsoo’s face, and he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll miss you.” Kyungsoo grunts in response. “I’ll let you call them, now, okay? And I’ll be at the station to pick you up when you get here.”

“Wait, Jongin-” he blurts out, his voice suddenly rushed and panicked.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

A beat of silence passes. “Nothing. See you.”

Jongin barely manages to get in another word before Kyungsoo’s hung up on him. Frowning, he stares at his phone, wondering for a moment if he should call him back. He quickly decides not to, figuring that it’s just a Kyungsoo thing.

With a yawn, Jongin stretches his arms above his head. The train should be arriving around six o’clock, so that gives him two hours to laze around before he’ll have to get ready to leave. That’s enough time to watch three episodes of  _Breaking Bad_ , and Jongin sets his video game aside for later, the nerves in his stomach now replaced with sparks of excitement.

But before he lets himself settle in under his sheets, Jongin figures he should text Sehun, seeing as he’s actually busy now.

_Long story but I found this guy with powers and I’m meeting up with him today. So yeah, it’s pretty important :/_ **Sent: 14:46PM**

That should get him off his tail for a bit.

 

❀

 

“So what does he look like?” Sehun asks in what is probably his hundredth question of the day.

It turns out that Jongin can’t get rid of his friend that easily. Unfortunately for Jongin, Sehun had misunderstood his earlier text as him asking for company, and Jongin couldn’t really be bothered to correct him. So now, they’re stuck together in the packed-out hall of Central Terminal, waiting to the side of the main escalator for six o’clock to tick by. But Jongin doesn’t mind Sehun’s company  _that_  much, he guesses.

“You mean Kyungsoo?” It’s not easy to hear each other over the bustle of the station, so Jongin waits for Sehun’s nod before he continues. “Well, he’s short. Probably tiny next to you,” he explains, lips quirking into a smile. “And he looks like he’s always scowling, like this.” He narrows his eyes, head tilted down so he’s glaring up at Sehun.

“That sounds terrifying,” Sehun says blankly.

“Not really. It’s kind of funny, actually.” Turning his gaze back to the escalator, to the top where he can watch as people descend from the train platform, Jongin bounces on the balls of his feet.

A hundred faces pass by before Jongin finally manages to catch a glimpse of Kyungsoo, and he automatically starts to smile. But the closer Kyungsoo gets, the more Jongin can sense that something’s wrong, based on the worried darting of his eyes. Stepping up to the escalator, close enough to hear the loud rattling and to feel the vibrations coming from the handrail, Jongin’s throat clamps shut. Kyungsoo still hasn’t seen him, and the machine clatters harder as he nears the bottom, a turmoil of complaints breaking out amongst the other travellers as they push past him and jump off the escalator as fast as they can. At the first break between people, Jongin darts forward, grabbing onto Kyungsoo and pulling him off the last few steps.

“Are you alright?” Jongin blurts out, his hands clutched tightly onto Kyungsoo’s shaking forearms as Kyungsoo blinks up at him, panic in his wide eyes.

“No- the train- it-” He gasps in a breath, shaking his head wildly and Jongin’s heart pangs. “I thought I was in- in another- another-”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jongin promises, guilt swelling in his chest. “You’re safe, now, you’re on solid ground.”

“I know,” Kyungsoo huffs out, a hand coming up to lightly push off Jongin’s grip. “It was just... I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jongin asks carefully.

Kyungsoo just nods, rubbing at his eyes. His face is set back in a familiar grimace, while the escalator behind them looks like it’s running smoothly, again. Whatever Kyungsoo had done must have passed, and Jongin breathes a sigh of relief.

“Um-” Sehun’s small voice cuts in. “Is this a bad time?”

“Oh, Kyungsoo, this is Sehun,” Jongin awkwardly introduces as Kyungsoo stares down the new addition to their circle. “He already knows about the- yeah.”

Sehun does a salute. “I’m sworn to secrecy,” he assures.

“I see. Nice to meet you,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin just prays that he doesn’t mind too much. It’s hard to tell from his face.

“Um- so you must be tired, right?” Jongin tries, and Kyungsoo just shrugs at him in response. “My house is about half an hour away by bus, but we can catch a taxi if you want-”

“What- you can’t just go home!” Sehun protests. “There’s so much cool stuff we could take him to see! Like there’s markets just a few streets from here, and there’s a mall nearby and-”

“Hey, I’m sure Kyungsoo doesn’t want to do anything too crazy,” Jongin insists, carefully scrutinizing Kyungsoo’s face for any kind of reaction. “Right?”

“I want to see as little of the city as possible,” Kyungsoo grumbles, and Jongin gives Sehun an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m hungry. Do you have food at home?” he asks, turning back to Jongin.

“Uh-” As he was running out the door for his bus, Jongin had yelled back to his parents that he would be out for the evening. Since this happens a lot lately, they’ve probably assumed that he’d be gone long enough that they don’t have to cook dinner for him. Jongin didn’t think it through very well. “We have ramen?”

Judging from the face Kyungsoo pulls, they’ve all got no choice but to go with Sehun’s suggestion. And Jongin regrets it the second they step out of the station and into the humid chaos of Seoul.

The roads are congested with 6PM traffic, something that Jongin’s used to, having lived here his whole life. But Kyungsoo immediately has to cover his ears, blocking out all the loud beeping and roaring engines. Everything must be coming as a massive shock to him, Jongin thinks guiltily. For someone who’s probably grown up with nature, now Kyungsoo’s stuck in a world constructed in greys, the roads five lanes wide as every person rushes past in a never-ending hurry. This can’t be easy for him.

Sehun looks worried, too, and they try and guide Kyungsoo away from the noise as quickly as possible. “The market will be way less crazy,” Sehun assures, even though Jongin doubts that Kyungsoo can hear him.

At least Sehun was right about it only being a few streets away, but the outdoor square is just as loud and crowded as the roads, only the car horns have been replaced with the squawks of live chickens and the stink of fermented fish. Thankfully, Kyungsoo seems to have much less of a problem with this place.

“My family has a booth at the markets back home,” Kyungsoo explains, making it a point to stop and inspect every vegetable stand they pass. The area is crowded with office workers haggling with sellers, and the three of them make their way around the makeshift paths, Jongin squished up into Kyungsoo’s backpack to avoid bumping into anyone. “I have to work there most days, since we can be quite busy. Our kimchi is the most popular in the village, actually,” he says proudly.

“Can you teach me your recipe?” Jongin teases, earning himself the expected glare.

“It’s a family secret,” Kyungsoo states with a scoff. “It dates back generations-”

“Wait- hold up,” Sehun cuts in, clearly confused. “Don’t you have to go to school?”

“No, I graduated in February,” Kyungsoo declares, and Jongin blinks at him in shock- he had assumed that Kyungsoo was a year younger than him- at least. At the two wide-eyed expressions that stare back at him, Kyungsoo sighs bitterly. “I’m 20 years old.”

“Seriously? But we’re only 19- you- you shouldn’t be talking formally to us,” Sehun splutters out.

“It’s fine,” Kyungsoo assures, shrugging. “I prefer it.”

Without another word, Kyungsoo beelines towards another crate of cabbages, and Sehun turns to frown at Jongin. “He’s definitely weird,” Sehun states as a fact.

“Yeah. But I like him,” Jongin says, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

“I never said I didn’t,” Sehun clarifies, both of them watching on as Kyungsoo interrogates the shop owner on the health of her vegetables. “You two seem to get along really well,” Sehun says more quietly.

Jongin hums in thought. Taemin had said the same thing to him. Well, he’d said something more along the lines of ‘wow, since when can you actually make friends?’, but still. “I guess he’s just easy for me to talk to,” Jongin says, right when Kyungsoo turns around, giving an unimpressed shake of his head as he rejoins them.

“Okay, game plan,” Sehun announces, clapping his hands together. “Find food. Eat food, because I’m literally starving.”

They’re surrounded by different stalls and tempting smells, so it isn’t long before Jongin and Sehun have found themselves dishes to scarf down. But Kyungsoo ends up being way more difficult to feed. They’ve almost done a tour of the whole market, and he’s turned down everything they’ve suggested so far, always coming up with some excuse or another.

“Just have a bite,” Jongin insists, offering Kyungsoo his stick of food. He’s already on his second course, after Kyungsoo had stubbornly refused to try any of his fried chicken pieces. By this point, Jongin’s getting worried that Kyungsoo’s going to go on hunger strike for the three days he’s here.

“No, thanks,” he scoffs out. “That fish is probably a month old and I don’t feel like being poisoned.”

Sighing, Jongin goes back to blowing on his fish cakes. Hot food is definitely not a good combination with the summer heat, and Jongin’s pretty sure that he’s already burnt his tongue twice, but he’s not going to let that stop him. “Do you want something cold?” he suddenly thinks to ask, and lifts his head to see that Kyungsoo’s already got his eyes fixed on an ice cream stall. “You want a waffle?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, instead marching up to scrutinize the different flavours on display. Quietly laughing, Jongin trails after him, head tilted to see Kyungsoo’s eyes squint up to read the different labels on the cart. “Vanilla and chocolate.” Kyungsoo murmurs, just loud enough for Jongin to hear before Kyungsoo orders the same thing.

“I’ll pay,” Jongin insists. Waffles only cost 2,000 won each, and Jongin grabs his wallet out of his pocket, fishing through the euros and yen coins until he finds the right change to hand over. Both bowing, Kyungsoo grabs his steaming ice cream sandwich off the old vendor before they walk back over to Sehun. “Is it good?” Jongin teases, watching on as Kyungsoo happily munches on his food.

“You didn’t offer to pay for  _me_ ,” Sehun complains, stabbing at his plate of tteokbokki with a pout.

“Yeah, well, you’re not a guest,” Jongin quips.

“I want another one,” Kyungsoo states, even though he’s barely started on his first.

Obligingly, Jongin takes him back to the stand where Kyungsoo orders two more that Jongin carries for him. Ice cream for dinner probably isn’t the most healthy choice, but Jongin isn’t complaining, especially when Kyungsoo says he’s never had ice cream waffles before.

There’s nothing else to do except lazily wander the markets- until Kyungsoo starts cursing at a flower stand for killing plants and they have to drag him away by force. They follow Sehun’s suggestion of going to see the Han River, since it’s only a few streets away. The sky is quickly turning dark, and the lampposts paint their paths yellow as the water reflects the city lights. It’s more quiet around there, and Sehun takes the chance to ask them thousands of questions about their powers, with Jongin skirting around anything about New York while still learning nothing new about Kyungsoo.

Sehun’s parents call him when it’s past his 8PM curfew, and the three of them shuffle onto the backseat of a bus, Kyungsoo complaining about every bump that they drive over. After a few stops, Sehun has to get off so he can take the subway home, but not before he makes them both promise that they won’t do anything important without him.

“So, did you have any fun today?” Jongin asks once they’re left alone, nudging Kyungsoo with his elbow.

“In a city? Of course not,” Kyungsoo clips, his glare fixed on the world passing by his window.

“Alright, if you say so,” Jongin sighs out, but he can’t help the smile that dances across his face.

By the time they get home, Jongin’s family is watching TV in the living room that they fail to sneak past. Kyungsoo bows as Jongin introduces him, and they quickly escape upstairs before his parents start asking too many questions, but mostly because he’s itching to finally talk to Kyungsoo properly.

Jongin had kind of forgotten to mention that he had a friend coming to stay, so it’s pure luck that Kyungsoo can stay in his oldest sister’s room, since she’s been backpacking across Europe for the summer break. Everything is perfectly neat in her untouched bedroom, and the first thing Kyungsoo does in there is walk up to the window and open the curtains, a crack of pitch black staring back at them.

“Is something wrong?” Jongin asks cautiously. Kyungsoo’s frowning around the room, at all the pink and gold features that Jongin assumes were in style when his sister last decorated. Jihye’s the fashion student, not him.

“I want to see your room,” Kyungsoo states, turning back to stare at him.

Of course, Jongin has no problem showing him. He sleeps straight across the narrow hallway, and it’s only when Jongin’s peering into his room that he remembers that it’s not exactly in a presentable state. Slamming the door shut with an awkward cough, Jongin racks his brain for an excuse that’ll buy him enough time to clean up.

“What is it?” Kyungsoo asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s just-” Jongin gnaws on his lip. He can’t think of anything that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, and he groans. “Kind of messy.”

“That’s fine,” Kyungsoo assures, not hesitating to lean past Jongin and open the door himself.

‘Kind of messy’ was not enough of a warning. Jongin has weeks of unwashed clothes covering the floor, empty ramen cups strewn across his desk, and there’s still shreds of his ripped-up ballet posters floating around the place. His stomach twists in sick dread at what Kyungsoo must be thinking of him.

“I like this room more,” Kyungsoo declares, and Jongin turns to gawk at him. “You’re closer to trees.” Kyungsoo points at the window, as if that’ll help Jongin understand.

“Um- okay?”

“Can I sleep here?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin’s in such a state of shock that he can’t do anything except nod blankly. The heart-shaped smile flashed towards him only makes Jongin’s throat more choked up. “Thank you.”

He’s barely mumbled out a ‘you’re welcome’ before Kyungsoo sets his bag down on a spot of visible floor. “I-I’ll clean up a bit-” Jongin starts, but Kyungsoo just shakes his head.

“Too tired,” he states, sitting down on the edge of the bed, right on top of Jongin’s probably-unhygienic sheets. Jongin honestly has no idea when he last washed them, and he winces.

“Let me at least get you new bed stuff,” he protests.

“No, don’t worry about it. I’d rather head straight to sleep, now, anyway,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin can’t catch his heart before it sinks. He’d really been looking forward to talking more. Kyungsoo must notice his pout, because he offers him a gentle smile, his eyes softening and his lips forming the prettiest shape. “In the morning, we’ll clean up together, alright?”

 _Together_. Jongin likes the sound of that, likes the thought of seeing more of Kyungsoo’s smiles. “Alright,” he agrees, heart set back into place.

After Jongin finds him spare toiletries and Kyungsoo’s changed into a clean T-shirt, he crashes on the mattress in a heap, clearly exhausted. Grinning down at the sight, Jongin wishes him a good night’s sleep, getting a lazy wave in return.

It’s not even 9PM by the time Jongin’s moved his things over to his sister’s room, and he isn’t even tired yet. He’s gotten used to staying up past midnight, pushing it past 3AM on the worst nights. But right now, he turns off the lights and settles under the sheets, listening as his phone plays soft music. It isn’t long before he’s drifting off, sleep gently draping over him.

 

❀

 

The next morning, Jongin wakes up groggy, his body weighed down by the last of his tiredness and the fleeting image of neon skylines. It’s the same as every other day, except that he’d actually slept straight through the night for once. Flipping onto his other side, Jongin buries his head into the pillow, ready to doze off, again. But when he tries to kick his legs off the edge of the bed so the aircon can cool him down, and he just ends up sprawled on his stomach, his swampy brain starts to trudge through the details of last night. He’s obviously woken up on a double bed, his sister’s double bed, because in his bed-

Springing up, Jongin immediately starts fumbling around for his phone that’s buried somewhere in the sea of white sheets. With blurry eyes, he can just make out that it’s 10AM, which is still night time in his view. But if Kyungsoo’s already awake, then he doesn’t want to waste any time. Jongin stumbles around the room as he rushes to get ready, taking only a few seconds to comb his hair in the mirror and glare at the red spots covering his cheeks. He dashes out into the hallway in just his T-shirt and basketball shorts, stopping in front of his room.

There’s still the chance that Kyungsoo’s asleep, and just as Jongin’s going to quietly knock, the door swings open, his hand hovering in empty air.

“Morning,” Kyungsoo greets, clearly wide awake. The tips of his black hair are wet, the pointed strands falling into his dark eyes as droplets slide onto the towel around his shoulders. He looks really cute like this, and Jongin feels his cheeks warm up.

“Did you shower?” Jongin asks. A stupid question, since Kyungsoo smells just like his sister’s pretty rose shampoo.

“Yes. Your mum gave me clean towels, right after she cooked me breakfast and helped me wash your clothes.”

“Oh.” Kyungsoo stares up at him blankly and Jongin ducks his head. “I’m sorry, you should have woken me up,” he says sheepishly.

“No, it’s alright,” Kyungsoo assures. “I wanted to let you rest.”

“Yeah I- I normally sleep in pretty late,” Jongin says, slightly bitter about admitting the bad habit.

“I slept in, too. Until about 7.” Jongin stares at him, eyes wide. “I have to get up at 6 back home to help my family,” Kyungsoo explains, stepping back into the room.

Now that he can see inside, Jongin stands in awe at how clean it’s gotten. There’s nothing on the floor except Kyungsoo’s backpack, and his desk has been completely cleared of all the junk, his notebooks and papers now stacked in a neat pile. He swears that even his bed has been made up with clean grey sheets, neatly tucked in under his skyline bedspread. It hasn’t looked this clean in weeks.

“I- I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyungsoo says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I needed something to do.”

Another reason for Jongin to feel shitty. Not wanting to intrude on Kyungsoo’s space, he pulls out his desk chair and sits, guilt still picking at his chest.

“Are you hungry?” Kyungsoo asks, catching Jongin a bit off guard.

“No- not yet, anyway,” he assures.

“I see. What are we going to do today?”

“Um-” Jongin hasn’t figured that part out yet, and he knows that he should have by now. “Talk?”

Kyungsoo looks at him for a few moment, as if he’s about to call him out on it. Eventually, he just nods. “You start.”

There’s still so much to cover on their powers, and a lot that he knows he’ll have to talk about sooner or later. But Jongin still has no idea how to, and all he can think of is the tiny thought that’s been stuck in the back of his mind since yesterday.

“Okay- can I ask a question?” When Kyungsoo nods, Jongin clears his throat. He doesn’t know if this is just stalling, or if maybe he wants to know more about Kyungsoo, powers or not. It’s probably both. “You said that you graduated this year- right?” Another nod. “But you’re a year older than me..” Jongin says, his words trailing off.

“I was homeschooled for two years,” Kyungsoo answers, not missing a beat. “I fell behind in the work, though, so I had to go back and redo a grade.” He grimaces, as if it was a terrible time in his life, and Jongin chuckles lightly, glad that he asked.

“Why were you home schooled?” he asks, tilting his head in curiousity.

“Because I didn’t get along with anyone in my class,” Kyungsoo states, his face void of emotion. Jongin can relate with that. “Or just other kids in general. They’re all the same, where I’m from, all the opposite of me.” He pauses for a moment, sighing bitterly. “They can’t wait to leave the district and their families behind so they can make their own lives in the big cities. Even my older brother was like that.”

Silently, Jongin looks down at his lap, his fingers clasped tightly together. That was exactly what he was going to do, as well. Kyungsoo carries on, not seeming to notice.

“My parents thought that because I didn’t like the environment, maybe that was why I was barely passing my subjects, so they took me out of school and left me in my own element.” Kyungsoo snorts out a light laugh, and Jongin flicks his eyes up to see his amused expression. “In the end, we realized I’m just really bad at school.”

A small smile pulls at Jongin’s lips before he can help himself. “Same,” he admits. “I’m terrible.”

“Liar,” Kyungsoo quips- and Jongin automatically tenses up. “Your exam marks are framed and hung up in your living room, right above your giant trophy case.”

“Hey- some of those are my sister’s violin awards,” Jongin tries to defend, but the grin on Kyungsoo’s face makes him huff out a light laugh. “I used to do really badly in school, especially in maths and science. But I started studying a lot in my last year, because I knew if I didn’t-”

Jongin stops himself. A cold wave of regret washes through his chest, leaving it dark and empty. Clearing his throat, he rakes a hand through his messy hair, tugging at the roots. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “I fucked it up, anyway.”

It’s silent for a while, Jongin breathing in short bursts as he tries to push down the emotions that threaten to carry him away. “What happened?” Kyungsoo asks, voice soft against the ringing in Jongin’s ears.

“I... I wanted to do ballet. In uni.” Back hunched, eyes shut, Jongin bites on his lip. If he keeps it short, simple, to the point, maybe he can- “I had a scout. He came to watch me perform. But whatever he saw- he didn’t like. He turned me down that night.” Jongin doesn’t dare to look up. “My coach told me- I... I ran off. Taemin found me. He touched my skin, and we were in a dance studio halfway across the world.”

As the quietness of the room starts to press down on them, crushing the sides of Jongin’s head in, Kyungsoo speaks. “I’m sorry,” is all he says, but it’s enough to have tears stinging at Jongin’s eyes.

“I should have been in New York right now,” Jongin rasps out, words forced past the sudden lump in his throat. But he won’t let himself cry- not again, and he keeps his eyes open wide as they burn, willing the tears away.

“Was that the first time?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin nods, the movement stunted.

“That was in June,” he says, trying to control the waiver in his voice. “And I’ve been able to teleport ever since.”

“I see.”

Swallowing thickly, Jongin leans his head back, blinking away the last of the wetness in his eyes. But his lungs still ache, his head still pounds, his throat clenching hard around nothing, and he hates how weak he is.

“Do you need to be alone?” Kyungsoo asks him simply.

With a quick sigh, Jongin shakes his head. “No, thanks,” he murmurs, finally meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes, now softened from their normal glower. “I’ll be alright.”

This time, Kyungsoo is the first to look away, and Jongin allows himself a few more seconds before he does the same. As he scours the room for something else to talk about, his gaze lands on his desk, at the picture neatly placed on the top of the book pile.

“It’s a nice photo,” Kyungsoo compliments, just as Jongin delicately picks it up by the corners.

“Doesn’t do the view justice.”

“Of course it doesn’t, but you tried,” Kyungsoo states, pulling a laugh out of Jongin that rattles his hollow chest.

It would have been impossible for any camera to capture the life and the beauty that animated Kyungsoo’s forest. All he got was a shot of leaves and branches stretching high above him, the sun shining through the gaps, like a spotlight for all the dust motes. But Jongin couldn’t bear to pack the image away with all the others-

“I have more photos if you want to see,” he offers, the words tumbling out of him before he can slow them down. “Not- not of the forest, but of other places I’ve ended up. I mean- if you wanted-”

“Show me.

With a relieved grin, Jongin darts down to peer under his bed, rummaging through the mess of papers and rubbish that Kyungsoo must have missed, until his fingers brush the front of his old Nike shoebox. Plopping down next to Kyungsoo and leaving only a sliver of space between their thighs, he hands over his small stack of photos. The rest of the trinkets and souvenirs can be saved for later.

Jongin’s never had any lessons in photography, and he knows that he must be lacking in his technique, but he’s still proud of the photos that he’s had printed, only the best out of the hundreds of shots he can take at a time.

Now that Kyungsoo’s silently flicking through them, though, Jongin isn’t so confident.

“They’re nice,” Kyungsoo comments once he’s halfway through the pile. His voice is as uninspired as ever, but Jongin happily takes the praise, every shred of sadness already washed away.

“This one was right after a French girl told Taemin to fuck off,” Jongin says, pointing to a magnified shot of Taemin’s face, mid-gasp. He couldn’t resist printing them out for future blackmailing.

“Taemin’s in a lot of these,” Kyungsoo observes calmly.

“Yeah. He’s my day trip buddy,” Jongin says, grinning at the next photo that shows Taemin flipping off the camera.

“Not Sehun?” Kyungsoo asks, eyebrows furrowed as he looks up at him.

“No, my power doesn’t work on Sehun,” Jongin says, and he doesn’t miss how Kyungsoo’s frown deepens.

“I see.”

Jongin hadn’t given it much thought, not even when the same thing had happened with Kyungsoo. He’d just assumed it was a statistics thing, that the odds are around two out of seven - the number of people he’s bumped into since his power first started. But judging from Kyungsoo’s look, there might be more to it, and he should probably ask about-

A sudden vibration makes Jongin jolt in shock, breaking up his thought. It’s probably Taemin, and Jongin fumbles to grab his phone out of his pocket so he can silence the call. But instead, he sees that it’s Sehun, who normally only texts. “Speak of the devil,” Jongin jokes. He’s tempted to send it to voicemail, but this must be sort of important, and Kyungsoo makes no show of minding when he checks if it’s alright with him.

“Hello?” Jongin answers.

“Hey- dude, are you home?” Sehun asks, his voice rushed and panting.

“Yeah,” Jongin says, not following. “Why?”

“Seriously? I’m just outside, come and let me in!”

“What-”

“I told you we were going to research today, remember?”

Jongin has no memory of this. “Alright, we’ll be right down,” he promises, ending the call. “Uh- apparently Sehun’s here to help us research, or something,” he says to Kyungsoo, who doesn’t look at all phased.

“That’s good,” he states, and Jongin only feels more left out of everything. He lets Kyungsoo lead him down the stairs to let in their new guest, with only a bit of bitterness picking at his chest. He just hopes that this’ll all be over quickly so that he has more chances to get to learn about Kyungsoo.

“What up?” Sehun greets, leaning against the outside wall in what he must think is a cool stance.

“Just get inside,” Jongin says, unimpressed. He rolls his eyes again as Sehun struts in and props his sunglasses up on his head.

“So I couldn’t help myself, and I started digging around a bit last night,” Sehun announces, casually making his way over to the kitchen. “I found a couple interesting things I thought we should look at.”

“Like what?” Kyungsoo asks, standing behind Sehun as he rummages through Jongin’s fridge without permission.

“It’s all on my baby,” Sehun states, patting the laptop bag at his hip with one hand as he takes out a bottle of orange juice with the other. “Got any food?”

“Just ramen,” Jongin deadpans.

“I can heat up your mom’s kimchi jjigae and make rice,” Kyungsoo offers, making Jongin’s cheeks color in surprise.

“Nah, that’ll take too long,” Sehun states, casually leaning against the fridge door as he crushes all of Jongin’s hopes. “We’ve got too much work to do. What’s fast and easy?” Sehun hums, thinking, and suddenly clicks his fingers together. “Let’s order chicken from that shop- y’know, the tasty one.”

Delivery from  _Kai’s_  takes half an hour, which is slower than cooking rice, anyway. If even Jongin knows that, it just goes to show how terrible Sehun’s cooking skills are. But fried chicken has always been Jongin’s weakness, even throughout all his diets, and the three of them settle in the living room while Jongin calls and places the order. Kyungsoo insists on paying for both of them after last night, which Jongin would normally refuse, but Kyungsoo’s glare is very convincing. Besides, he can’t feel too guilty since Kyungsoo has a wallet full of cash to spend, thanks to his grandma’s insistence that he ‘make the most out of the city’. The words have Kyungsoo wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Anyways,” Sehun cuts in, finally having managed to close all the weird applications he had open on his laptop. “Back to this.”

With a quiet groan, Jongin takes his attention away from staring at Kyungsoo over Sehun’s back, and turns to the screen in front of him. The three of them have squished onto one couch, all leaning forward to watch as the dozens of tabs start to load. Begrudgingly, Jongin has to admit that Sehun’s done a lot more research than him.

“Alright, so I think it’s obvious that you two can’t be the only ones in the world with powers. I mean, if we ran those numbers, it’d just be impossible,” Sehun states, like the nerdy Computer Science student he is. “So I started doing some research into people who have claimed to have different superpowers. And, well obviously, there are heaps of fake stories that have come out- and then people have tested them, found out they were lying the whole time, etcetera etcetera- just like I expected.” Sehun clicks through his collection of journal articles, giving Jongin brief flashes of the different stories. “So clearly, the real people are good at laying low and staying out of the media- y’know, probably so that no one starts experimenting on their brains.  _Except_ , then we have...” Triumphantly, he clicks on the next tab, revealing a bold headline along with a familiar photo of a young man’s face. “Zhang Yixing, the Miracle Healer. You remember him, right?”

“Of course,” Jongin mutters, scanning over the article. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Kyungsoo states bluntly.

“Seriously?” Sehun asks, dumbfounded. “He was all everyone talked about for, like, a whole month.” Kyungsoo just frowns at their blank expressions, and Jongin signals to Sehun to let him do the explaining. “Okay, so it was in 2012 that he was discovered. Zhang Yixing has the power to heal  _anyone_ \- person or animal. That means all the cuts and bruises on their body, any physical disease, even terminal ones, he can cure just by touching that patient. He’s from Changsha, in China, and on April the 8th, he walked around their entire hospital and it only took him a few hours before everyone was healed. Of course, the media caught onto it straight away, and he was internationally famous by that night. So now-” Sehun clicks to the next tab, showing the clean main page of the  _Zhang Yixing Foundation_ , with a banner of the sky and clouds at the top of the site. “He’s still healing people, he’s been on tons of talk shows, he’s a  _millionaire_ from all the endorsements from rich clients- but then he’s got a whole empire of followers who can vote on his site and tell him where to go next, which he’ll do for free. And then, of course, there are still people who think it’s all a massive hoax and hate his guts,” Sehun concludes, leaning back with a smug grin.

“Interesting,” Kyungsoo states, voice as dull as ever. “Is that all?”

“Well- no,” Sehun says, and it takes him a moment of blinking before he continues. “Alright, so Zhang Yixing has never said how he got his powers, whether or not there is a reason. We only know that they started on that first day, when he was 18 years old, and that his ability isn’t perfect.” The next article is titled at the top with  _Cancer patient readmitted one year after “miracle healing”_ , which is news to Jongin. “Zhang Yixing can heal that person at the time, but after, they can still experience a relapse in their disease, and from what I’ve seen, these cases have only just started popping up. Weird, huh?” Jongin hums. “Anyways, that’s about all I’ve got on him, which I guess wasn’t that relevant to you guys. But TLDR- I mean, um- in conclusion. There’s definite proof that there are other people out there with different powers, and we just have to get in contact with them. As for trying to talk with Zhang Yixing, himself, well- he’s getting tens of thousands of emails a day, so I don’t think we’ve got much hope there. Alright, and now!” Sehun claps his hands together. “I bet you’re wondering where we can look? Well.” He leans down to unzip his bag. “It’s a long-shot, but I’ve tapped this old radio into the police station frequency-”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Jongin protests over the static coming from the old chunk of plastic in Sehun’s hands.

“In a word... Yes- But maybe we’ll find something from it!” he exclaims, ignoring Jongin’s groans. “Look, never mind- I still saved the best part for last.” Turning the radio back off, Sehun goes back to his computer, and starts closing all the past tabs. “Surely there are people out there who have powers, who want to reach out and find other people going through the same thing- I mean, that’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? So, where do people post these kinds of things?” When neither Jongin or Kyungsoo bother to answer, Sehun opens the next tab with a hard click. “Forums!”

They’re greeted with a green background and grey boxes of messages that Jongin and Kyungsoo have to lean in closer to make out.

“They’re lying,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin’s barely read through the first line but he whips his head to look at him.

“Wait- what do you mean?” Sehun asks, taken aback.

“Everyone on this page is lying,” Kyungsoo repeats, his cold eyes giving nothing away.

Frowning, Jongin takes over the mousepad and scrolls down. The posts look as genuine as he expects anything claiming to have superpowers would look. Jongin skims through the group of people discussing their different abilities- flying powers, super strength, super speed- all trying to find answers.

“But how do you know that?” Sehun asks.

“I just do,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin gnaws on his lip, silently wondering what Kyungsoo isn’t telling them.

“Well- well there’s heaps of these kinds of threads out there, so surely one of them will have something,” Sehun insists.

“Show me the others,” Kyungsoo orders, and Sehun diligently clicks to the next tab, then the next, then the last one. Each time, Kyungsoo only needs a brief glance before he’s shaking his head.

“Alright, we just need to keep searching, then,” Sehun sighs out, running his hands through his black hair.

“These places are too public,” Kyungsoo states. “It makes it too easy for their lies to get a reaction.”

Sehun seems to consider this, his hands dropping to his lap. While it’s quiet, Jongin tries to meet Kyungsoo’s eyes, but his gaze is still fixed on the screen.

“I have an idea,” Sehun murmurs, before he darts up, grabbing his heavy laptop on his way to the armchair. “Just give me a sec,” he says, starting to tap on the keyboard at his normal lightning speed.

Jongin can’t help himself. Leaning in a bit closer, he whispers the question next to Kyungsoo’s ear, “How can you tell?”

“Energy,” he states, finally turning to stare at him. Their faces are so close that Jongin can smell the last hints of rose shampoo, and his cheeks burn red. “Everyone emits a different kind.”

“Alright, this has gotta work better than looking on Naver,” Sehun announces, squishing himself in between them without any warning and breaking Jongin’s attention away from the mole on the side of Kyungsoo’s cheek. “No questions about the website, please.”

“Uh- SilkRoadReloaded.com?” Jongin scoffs at the skull logo in the corner of the white page. “What is this, a mafia site?”

“ _No_ , this is part of the deep web.” Jongin just narrows his eyes at Sehun’s geek speak. “Like, you know.. black market kind of stuff,” Sehun admits, throwing his hands up in defense against Jongin’s gaping mouth. “I needed computer parts, okay? The best things are impossible to get anywhere else without paying insane shipping costs!”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Jongin demands.

“Of course not!” Sehun assures, waving a hand. “No one’s tried to brutally murder me and steal my organs yet, so it’s fine.” Before Jongin can interrogate him more, Sehun clicks on a link, opening up a page to show countless threads stacked on top of each other. “Anyways, there are tonnes of forums on here, for literally anything you could imagine, I mean... Things can get pretty dark.”

Eyes wide, Jongin rakes his gaze over all the things being sold on this site - there’s a category for every drug he’s ever heard of on  _Breaking Bad_ , and then there’s body parts, weapons, ‘services’ that Jongin doesn’t even want to know about- and it’s going to be impossible to find what they’re searching for.

“Man, I’m not even sure where to start- I mean, I guess I have to find the right sub-forum,” Sehun states, before he picks the ‘General Discussion’ forum and delves them further into the endless maze. He reads fast, scrolling at a pace that only gives Jongin a brief snippet of each R-rated topic.

“Should I just do a mass search for ‘superpowers’?” Sehun asks as he skims through the fifth page.

“If you want,” Jongin mutters. His vision is starting to blur over the words, his faith in this idea lost a hundred topics ago.

“Not just yet,” Kyungsoo insists, and Sehun nods.

Sighing, Jongin can feel his impatience starting to crawl up his throat with every one of Sehun’s flicks at the mousepad. Tapping his foot on the ground, he wrings his fingers together as he waits for the others to give up with him.

“Stop,” Kyungsoo states, cutting through the silence that has settled over the room. “Open that one.”

Heart caught in his throat, Jongin stares at the new thread displayed in front of them.

 _A Strange Reoccurrence_  is the title, and it dates back four years back- to 2012. With bated breath, Jongin starts to read the original post from the user named  _01579972_.

 _‘To those who may read this, I would firstly like to warn you that I can offer no further information or answers. This is merely a retelling of facts, and in sharing this, I only ask for anyone with a similar experience to come forth, and offer a light of guidance._  
The date today is the 3rd of July, and it marks the occurrence of another strange incident, in starkingly similar fashion to one that I would have rather forgotten.  
Allow me to set the scene.  
This year’s summer has been unforgiving, and the city reached a peak temperature of 30 degrees today. In normal fashion, I was awaiting my post-lecture shot of caffeine, and as my favorite server called me to collect it, our hands happened to brush.  
This is where the story becomes interesting.  
Faster than the eye could record, the tips of our overlapped fingers were suddenly covered in crystals, white as powder. The fragments grew outwards in thin, spidery ferns, drowning out the sounds of the cafe with a crinkling noise, like footsteps on fresh snow. Ironically, one might think it would be cooling on such a warm day. Yet instead, the ice was scalding hot, even hotter than the black coffee grasped between us, and I released her as if I had been burned, shattering the glass bond. I know from my last experience that the ice will not disappear from her hands as it did mine, and she will be left with the shock, with the frozen skin that will begin to turn blue if she does not act fast.  
This has been the second incident, the second contact, and I doubt it will be the last.  
\- The Summer’s Frost’

“Is it real?” Jongin murmurs, getting a soft shush from Sehun that he rolls his eyes at.

The next few comments are barely worth glancing over:

_‘yea and im kim jongun haha fk u’_

_‘this site isnt for sharing high school poetry GET THE FUCK OFF CUNT’_

_‘Turn your private messages on, 01579972.’_

Jongin stops, rereading the post that was left almost two years after the first one. But he assumes that the user must not be active anymore, since his name  _blckthunderbird_  isn’t underlined like the others.

“Have you read the last reply?” Sehun asks quietly, and Jongin shakes his head, pulse racing as he skips over more angry messages to meet the final post on the forum.

 _‘Dear 01579972 (I wonder if those numbers hold a special meaning to you?),  
I feel it must be fate to have come across your post on this date, the 18th of February. Today is not an easy day for me. It symbolizes my late brother’s birthday, and the first anniversary of discovering my own unique ability.  
On this day last year, in 2013, my family were gathered to honor my younger brother’s memory, as was our tradition. He would have turned 16. There is no getting over the death of a brother, of a son, and it has taken ten years for us to realize this. When my parents excused themselves to be alone, I overheard a conversation I shouldn’t have. (I will try not to take up too much of your time with the details.) Afterwards, when they found me and tried to comfort me, that’s when it happened for the first time. Where my mother touched me, there was a sudden stream of water pouring from my hands, like it was appearing out of thin air. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, and it leaked onto the carpet until my mother let go of me. Ever since that moment, any time I’ve made contact with someone’s bare skin, the same thing has happened.  
For you, it was ice. For me, it always was, and still is, water.  
In the past year, I have felt many different emotions and sought out many different forms of help. I can understand what you went through: with the shock of what happened, the fear of yourself, the loneliness and the helplessness that come with no longer being able to touch others.  
I have spent many long nights searching for people like myself, and I’ve had no luck so far. So please, if you still have any questions left, any new information, or just want to connect, then write back to me. My inbox will always be open._  
_\- thelittleprince01’_

“Wow,” Jongin murmurs. A weight sits heavy in his stomach, and he looks down, guilt-ridden.

“Do you see the pattern between your powers?” Sehun asks, his voice awed. Jongin can only shake his head. “They all involve touch- like touching people.”

“Except for Kyungsoo’s,” Jongin says softly.

“That’s because Kyungsoo’s an outlier,” Sehun says, patting Kyungsoo on the back. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he clips back.

“Oh man, this is so cool!” Sehun exclaims. “We’ve got to get into contact with both of them, ASAP.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything, barely listening as Sehun starts to dictate and tap out his message to  _thelittleprince01_. Kyungsoo is also silent, and Jongin can’t gather anything from the blank look on his face. It somehow makes everything more unsettled, and Jongin sinks into the feeling, into the darkness pressing in on the edges of his chest.

Now that he can see into this world, it looks more grieving, more dangerous- more real than he had ever expected, and Jongin doesn’t know if he’s ready to dive in deeper.

To his relief, the doorbell rings, and he can at least distract himself with forcing chicken down his tight throat instead.

“Done,” Sehun announces, after at least five rewrites of the same message. “How is it?” he asks, and Kyungsoo gives his nod of approval as Sehun helps himself to drumsticks. “The first person’s account is private, no surprise, so I think we’ve done enough research for the day-” Jongin doesn’t even have time to get his hopes up before Sehun’s interrupting, again. “Hey, dude, remember how I said I was gonna make Taemin into a skin on  _Minecraft_?”

“What’s  _Minecraft_?” Kyungsoo asks, and Sehun gasps over the sound of Jongin mourning his alone time with Kyungsoo.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Sehun trying- and failing- to teach Kyungsoo how to play computer games as Jongin watches on in vague amusement. But he’s a lot less amused when Sehun ends up staying for dinner, and only leaves when Kyungsoo states that he’s tired. Jongin can’t do anything but let Kyungsoo sleep, painfully aware that he only has one more night left with him.

 

≋

 

Despite all of Jongin’s best efforts- like setting an alarm for 8AM, joining in on his family’s breakfast, and ignoring all of Sehun’s ‘urgent’ text messages- his plans to catch Kyungsoo alone still manage to fall through, again. It turns out that when Jongin wasn’t paying attention, Sehun had slipped Kyungsoo his number, so when _thelittleprince01_ replied in the early hours of the morning, both of them got forwarded the message. It was a long ramble that Jongin only had enough time to glance over, but it had asked when was the soonest they could meet.

Now, it’s barely 9AM, and Kyungsoo’s dragged them onto another stuffy bus, one that’ll take them to Gangnam and to the address that Sehun had passed on. The ride passes in mostly silence, with Jongin’s stomach swirling from the heat, from the dread of what’s coming. He lets himself close his eyes, slowly sinking into the Frank Ocean that’s playing through their shared headphones- until Kyungsoo elbows him in the ribs.

“You’re not allowed to sleep or we’ll get lost,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin forces his blurry eyes back open.

The frown aimed up at him makes Jongin smile sheepishly, even though he’s gotten used to Kyungsoo’s constant glaring. “Sorry,” he mumbles, a yawn escaping his mouth before he can help himself.

“Don’t be, just stay awake.”

“Yes sir,” Jongin chuckles out. He stretches his shoulders back, trying to push off his sleepiness and find something to talk about. “So, what energy are you getting from this Joonmyun person?”

Kyungsoo seems to think about it for a moment, his glare turned to the the seat in front of them. “A sad one.” Jongin bites back a grin. Even he could figure that out.

“But we can trust him?” Kyungsoo gives him a firm nod, and that’s enough to wash away most of the nerves picking at Jongin’s chest

Sehun’s waiting for them under the shelter of the bus stop when they get off, leading the two of them through the scorching suburb, down the thin streets and along the white walls that conceal Gangnam’s towering mansions. This Joonmyun person must be loaded, Jongin reckons, and when he sets eyes on his place, a modern house made up of white and light wood, with two storeys of balconies staring down at them- he can’t help but be envious.

Sehun lets out a low wolf-whistle as they make their way up the spacious, cobblestone driveway, admiring the view. “Does he really live here alone?” he muses.

Jongin just shrugs. “What time did you say we’d get here?” he asks instead, stopping at the wooden door. There’s no bell for them to ring, no sign that someone’s home, and Jongin doesn’t feel like waiting in this heat.

“I told him 9 o’clock,” Sehun answers, trying to glance through the tinted windows that border the entryway.

Stepping past them to knock, Kyungsoo has the door pushed open with just a light tap. Before they’ve had a chance to react, Kyungsoo’s already swung it the rest of the way and waltzed inside. Jongin and Sehun share a startled look, with no choice except to follow him.

Jongin’s first impression is that the house looks a lot less impressive on the inside. They first toe their shoes off at the door, leaving them next to Kyungsoo’s sneakers, before making their way down the corridor. The walls are plain white, rows of photos hung on either side of the same four family members. With a stab of pity- Jongin remembers the story, and his eyes linger for longer than they should on one monochrome photo of a child’s face.

The hallway leads straight into a large, spacious living room. There’s a fireplace, a grand piano, three couches surrounding a flat screen TV, and then bookshelves stuffed with games and DVD’s that Sehun awes at - but Jongin’s way too daunted by their company to be excited. Through the glass windows that are stretched across the walls, he can see a lone figure in the yard, his back turned to them.

“You go first,” Jongin mutters to Sehun, pushing him in the direction of the open screen door. He’s got no idea where Kyungsoo’s disappeared to, so that means Sehun has no choice but to do the talking for them.

Sehun doesn’t seem to mind at least, and Jongin hides in his barely-taller shadow as they step back out into the heat. Still hanging up white sheets that flap in the breeze, the man who must be Joonmyun doesn’t notice them.

“Um- hello?” Sehun tries, and Joonmyun starts slightly, finally turning around to face them.

He couldn’t be much older than the three of them, Jongin thinks, except the dark bags under his eyes make it hard to tell. Otherwise, his face is handsome but plain, just like in the photos, and the smile he offers them is so soft that it’s barely there. “Good morning.”

Sehun quickly bows, with Jongin a second behind, before his friend straightens up and reaches out an arm. “Thanks for getting back to us so fast,” he states, and when Joonmyun makes no move to shake his hand, Sehun stuffs it back into his jeans pocket. “I’m Sehun, and this is Jongin- and Kyungsoo is here, too- somewhere-”

“Yes, I recognize you,” Joonmyun says. His voice is so small that Jongin has to strain to hear it, and then to try and piece together why Joonmyun is staring right at him.

“I-I’m sorry?” Jongin mutters, his mind drawing up a blank.

“I found you running out of my house the other day, with no way you could have gotten in,” Joonmyun explains, strangely calm about the incident that Jongin remembers with a jolt.

Sehun’s house- Taemin- their butts hitting the ground- yep, that was him. Honestly, Jongin’s ended up in so many places, he wouldn’t be able to list half of them, but he should definitely feel guilty for trespassing in Joonmyun’s house, and he’s midway through an apology when the man shakes his head. “It’s alright, I had the impression it was because of powers.”

“I- yeah, uh-” Jongin pauses, giving an unsure shrug. “They just do whatever they want, I guess.” Joonmyun nods gently at him.

“Quite inconvenient, isn’t it?” he muses, and despite himself, Jongin lets out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees. It feels surreal- to talk about this so casually with someone else who knows.

Joonmyun seems like he’s about to say something else- but a crash from behind them has Sehun and Jongin whipping their heads around, and Jongin’s the first to dart back inside, automatically fearing for Kyungsoo’s safety.

Luckily, Kyungsoo looks fine. Jongin can’t say the same for the smashed pot at his feet, though.

“Do you have a dustpan?” Kyungsoo asks simply. His eyes are fixed on Joonmyun, who’s standing at the door with the other two, all frozen in shock.

“I... yes, of course,” Joonmyun assures, rushing into the adjacent kitchen. At least he doesn’t seem angry, and Jongin lets out a long breath.

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo states, grabbing the broom off Joonmyun and starting to sweep the piles of soil and broken ceramic into the rubbish bag that’s held open for him. “I was moving the plants outside, since they asked me too.”

Only now does Jongin see the collection of smaller pots behind Kyungsoo, all gathered at the bottom of the stairwell. Jongin almost feels like he should apologize to Joonmyun, but the man just laughs, light and breathy.

“Well, I’m sure they’ll get more sun that way,” he says softly.

“No, the problem’s the soil,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin snorts into his hand.

“Classic Kyungsoo,” Sehun mumbles, sharing a smile with Jongin.

At Kyungsoo’s expectant glare, the four of them help him to carry the dozen plants out into the yard - Jongin can recognize one bonsai, but the rest all look the same to him: leafy, green things.

Behind the clothesline is a large square of grass, with one tall tree standing in the middle. It’s branches stretch out far enough to shelter Sehun and Jongin from the sun as Kyungsoo sets to work. He starts by digging out holes in the half-filled garden beds that line the sides of the wire fence, in between Joonmyun’s herbs and flower bunches. Once he’s gotten Kyungsoo the right tools, Joonmyun awkwardly hovers around, trying to help, but Kyungsoo quickly shoos him off.

“I don’t mind, really,” Joonmyun assures, quietly laughing as he comes to sit down on Sehun’s other side. “I’ve been meaning to re-landscape the garden for a while now.”

The grass they’re resting on is soft on Jongin’s legs and feet, scattered with white petals from the tree above them. The wind is a gentle breeze against the heaviness of the air, and Joonmyun seems just as relaxed as Jongin feels. The three of them watch on in amusement as Kyungsoo starts to replant each sprout with care, taking the time to murmur things to each one as he buries them into the soil and pours water over their roots.

“Kyungsoo seems very in tune with the needs of nature,” Joonmyun notes.

“Oh yeah, he’s their biggest advocate. Don’t even get him started on florists,” Sehun jokes, and Jongin chuckles at the memory.

“It’s alright,” Joonmyun assures, offering them both a light smile. “It’s quite cute, actually.”

The grin instantly slips off Jongin’s face, acid rising up his throat as he turns to the ground to pick apart fallen petals.

Soon, Kyungsoo’s straightening back up and making his way back to the shade. “They’re fine, now,” Kyungsoo states, now standing in front of them. There’s sweat sticking to the sides of his fringe, and to Jongin’s white shirt which hangs too low on Kyungsoo’s short frame. Bitterly, Jongin looks down, crushing the flowers together.

“Oh thank god- I’m literally melting,” Sehun huffs out, making a show of hauling himself up and stretching his arms out.

“If you want, I have drinks in the fridge,” Joonmyun says, and Sehun doesn’t need to be told twice.

While he makes a beeline towards the kitchen, the three of them follow, Kyungsoo walking next to Joonmyun while Jongin trails at the back, his arms folded across his burning chest.

Joonmyun’s fridge is giant, stocked to the brim with cans and bottles of every kind of soft drink and fruit juice that Jongin’s heard of, and Sehun happily grabs himself a Coke.

“Do you have ice cream?” Kyungsoo asks, turning to Joonmyun expectantly.

Flustered, Joonmyun stutters out an apology as Kyungsoo’s hopeful face dims back to it’s normal grimace. With a silent smirk, Jongin thinks to himself that he’ll buy Kyungsoo one after they leave.

It must have been the only thing Joonmyun _hadn’t_ bought, because in the next room over, his long dining table is covered with different snacks - way more than four people can eat. He might have more people coming over after them, but somehow, Jongin doubts it. Now he’s just wishing that he hadn’t already had breakfast, so he could be stuffing his face with chips like Sehun is.

“So, you must all have a lot of questions you want to ask,” Joonmyun says, voice soft as he pulls out the chair at the head of the glass table. Hesitantly, Jongin sits to his side, next to Kyungsoo and across from Sehun. “I’ll do my best to answer them,” Joonmyun promises, catching Jongin’s eye and smiling.

Gaze darting down, Jongin just prays that someone else will take over the talking. But Sehun seems preoccupied with his food, while Kyungsoo’s staring at everyone blankly, and Jongin tries to shrink in on himself as much as possible. It feels like he’s back in school, trying to avoid the teacher’s attention. To his relief, after a moment of silence passes in the small, sunny room, Joonmyun speaks up again.

“I want everyone to feel comfortable in this space, and for us to learn how to communicate and put our trust in each other. I think we could all benefit from that,” Joonmyun says, and Jongin nods, no idea what else he’s supposed to do. “Would you all prefer if I told you my story first?”

“Sounds good,” Sehun states, letting Jongin relax for the moment.

“Well, from my experience, the power that I have is a reflection of what happened to me in the past. Maybe you’ve also found that,” he suggests, but it doesn’t seem that way to Jongin. “I know you’ve all read the message I left, but there’s a bit more to the story that I’d like to share.” No one moves, and with a small breath in, barely loud enough to hear, Joonmyun starts. “When I was in primary school, my family owned a beach house at Incheon, and they took me and my brother there every summer. My brother was three years younger than me, and he’d always follow me around. I used to find it annoying.” Joonmyun laughs lightly- but Jongin’s fingers are tense on his thighs, already knowing where this story is going. Without a pause, Joonmyun just keeps speaking, as if reading a script for the hundredth time. “When I was nine years old, I snuck out one night to play in the waves. I didn’t know my brother had come after me, until I heard him calling out my name. He was only six, and he wasn’t good at swimming... I tried to save him.”

There’s a moment of silence- nothing but the whir of the air conditioner and the weight of every unsaid word. Then it ends.

“When I graduated from high school,” Joonmyun continues, “my friends were having a party. and they thought it would be funny to throw me into the pool. I hadn’t been in the water since that night- but when I was under there- I passed out. My friends had to drag me back up, and when I woke up, I saw that the pool was overflowing, and there was water covering their backyard. No one else had noticed, but it still terrified me- so I went straight home. One week after that was my brother’s birthday, and, well, the rest was in the message. There’s not much else to elaborate on after that.”

Jongin hears Sehun cough, clearing his throat before he tries to speak, the words coming out hoarse. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Eyes still fixed on the table, Jongin nods.

“It’s alright, really,” Joonmyun assures, and there’s a softness to his voice that makes Jongin believe him. “Before, I would feel a lot of negativity towards what I was going through, but that only made my power stronger. I’ve had to learn to be at peace with it, and it’s taken a while, but therapy has made it possible.” Sehun hums thoughtfully. “If any of you were looking to seek help from a professional, my psychologist would be more than happy to meet you. I’d highly recommend it.”

Jongin can feel Joonmyun’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he still pulls a grimace at the idea. He’s never believed in that kind of thing.

“So, who’d like to go next? ” Joonmyun asks, and when no one makes a move to speak, he chuckles quietly. “Shall we go around clockwise?”

Jongin winces from the painful twist of his chest. “Sure...” he mutters. “Uh-” Clearing his throat, he tries to string together a thought over the pounding in his ears, but it’s impossible. With a harsh sigh, Jongin shrugs, the motion stilted. “I- don’t know where to start, honestly.”

“Tell us about how your power works,” Joonmyun suggests, his voice soft and understanding.

“Well... I teleport. But only if I touch another person, unless it’s Sehun or Kyungsoo.” Jongin steals a glance up, and Kyungsoo gives him an encouraging nod. “The place always changes, too. Sometimes it’s in the middle of nowhere, or- or it’s in Europe or something. I’ve ended up in France a lot,” he jokes.

“France is a beautiful country, isn’t it?” Joonmyun muses, and Jongin nods. It’s probably his favorite. “You seem to have used your power a lot, that’s interesting.”

“I go with my friend,” Jongin states. “We try and make it every few days, so that.. Uh-” Raking a hand through his hair, Jongin debates whether he should mention the next part or not. He doesn’t want to, but there’s the chance that Joonmyun might know something, and he takes a breath in. “If I don’t use it often enough, I start to feel sick.”

“Sick?” Joonmyun asks, frowning.

“Yeah, a nervous sort of sick,” Jongin explains, trying to gesture with his hands. “Like- it’s building up or something.”

Joonmyun only gives him a guilty look, his smile now pained. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you why.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jongin says curtly, dropping his arms back to his lap. He shouldn’t have expected anything.

Hesitantly, Sehun tries to speak up. “What about the first time- how- how did it happen?” His eyes are downcast, and Sehun refuses to meet Jongin’s gaze.

He’d asked the same question two days ago, but Jongin can barely remember what he’d said. Not enough, apparently. He knows it wasn’t as much as he’d said to Kyungsoo yesterday.

“It was after the showcase- I.. That- that was a month ago-” Jongin had already known that Joonmyun would have to ask him at some point, but it still doesn’t come easy. There are too many facts and emotions to sift through- and Jongin has no idea which ones will be important, which ones he should force out his clenched throat. “I was auditioning for the dance program at Juilliard, but I didn’t get it. They told me that on the night- and then- I left and my friend found me. When we touched, we teleported- got stuck inside Juilliard, in their building in New York and... Yeah, that was all, I guess.”

“That must have been hard for you,” Joonmyun says, after a moment of deafening silence. Chest still burning, Jongin shrugs. “Thank you, Jongin. Should we move on to Kyungsoo, next?”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin looks up to see him staring at Joonmyun expectantly.

“So, well- Kyungsoo, what is your power, exactly?” Joonmyun asks, picking his words cautiously.

“It’s not a power,” Kyungsoo corrects. “I simply listen to the plants if they speak to me.”

“Right- so..” Joonmyun takes a moment to frown, and Jongin almost laughs at his confused expression, having to bite on his lip to stop himself. “How does that work?”

“It works well,” Kyungsoo assures, making a small giggle escape out of Jongin’s mouth- until Kyungsoo glares at him and he shuts up. “I’ve always been able to hear them speak,” he continues. “And what they tell me isn’t translatable into Korean, so don’t ask.”

“I- I see.” Joonmyun ducks his head, looking flustered. “Was that.. everything?”

Kyungsoo seems to pause, eyebrows furrowed and gaze fixed ahead. Jongin’s close enough to see the worry etched into his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Yes,” Kyungsoo confirms.

There’s a lot more that Kyungsoo isn’t telling them- like how he can make plants grow, can make the ground rattle, can detect other people’s powers, and whatever else Jongin doesn’t even know about, yet. But it isn’t his place, and Jongin stays silent.

“Well, then it’s Sehun’s turn.” Joonmyun turns to his other side and smiles at him. “You didn’t mention anything about your power in the messages, so tell us about them.”

“Yeah, actually.” Sehun clears his throat, scratching at his neck. “I don’t exactly have one, I just wanted to help these guys out.”

“Oh, that’s surprising,” Joonmyun says, and he lets out an awkward laugh. “Then.. I guess we’ve covered everyone.”

As Joonmyun clasps his hands together on the table, a heavy silence starts to press down on the room. There’s nothing Jongin wants to say, even though it barely feels like they’ve spoken about anything. Silently tapping his fingers on the outside of his thigh, he waits for something to happen- for anything to break the tension that stifles the air.

“I haven’t had much luck when it comes to finding other people,” Joonmyun starts, voice softer than ever, but crystal clear in the quietness. “There was Minseok, the one who made the first post. We met for coffee once, but he didn’t have much to say. In the end, he only said I should contact him if I learnt anything new. I sent him a text today, but I’m not sure if he still has the same number, or if he’ll even want to meet again.” Joonmyun tries to smile, but it only seems forced, and Jongin looks down guiltily. “I know how difficult it can be to reach out, and I really appreciate that you came today. So, thank you. All of you.”

It’s with a cold emptiness that they stand from their seats and make their way out, and Jongin tries not to look at all the untouched food on the table, at all the items in Joonmyun’s lounge that only make the house feel more lonely.

“I’ve given Sehun my phone number, so if anything happens, you can contact me. I’ll contact him if I learn anything new, as well.” Joonmyun runs a hand down the frame of the front door, his voice faint. “Otherwise, we could meet next Wednesday, if it suits you. I work from home, so I’m here everyday. You only need to text if you want to come back.”

“We’ll find out when we can,” Sehun assures, and Jongin wonders if he means it, if there’s any point.

“Alright,” Joonmyun agrees. “Just let me know.”

After the three of them bow down, thanking him for everything, Joonmyun waves and retreats back into his home. As Sehun rambles on, Kyungsoo and Jongin barely listening, they head back the way they came, with no more questions or answers than Jongin had just an hour ago.

 

### ≋

The door to Jongin’s bedroom is still closed when he marches back upstairs from the kitchen that night. His family is in the living room, the muffled noises of _MBC Music_ drifting up the steps as Jongin stands alone in the empty hallway, wringing his hands through his hair. He knows it’s stupid to be so nervous, but the doubts are piling up in his mind too fast to push them away - like has Kyungsoo kept the door closed to avoid him- is he too tired to talk- should Jongin just turn around and give up.

After a deep breath and a few laps of pacing up and down the hallway, Jongin finally stops himself and works up the courage to knock. He’s barely touched the wood when Kyungsoo calls out from the other side, telling him to come in. After one last second of hesitance, Jongin pushes the door open.

Kyungsoo’s sitting cross-legged on top of the bed covers, already dressed in Jongin’s oversized sleeping top, his blue boxers poking out from underneath, and Jongin’s cheeks flare up instantly. Still stuck in the doorway, he waits until Kyungsoo’s eyes flick up from the book in his lap, and he greets Jongin with a small smile.

“Um- I-” Jongin ducks his head, gesturing to the glass in his hand. “I got you water, just in case you need it.”

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo states, voice deep and warm.

Hesitantly, Jongin steps over to the bedside table and sets the drink down, but he can’t resist stealing a glance at the drawing on Kyungsoo’s notebook.

“Did you do that?” Jongin asks, even though the answer is obvious from the pen in Kyungsoo’s hand.

“Yes, not very well,” he states, and Jongin gawks.

“Are you kidding? I could never draw like that.” The lines are black and messy, some only scribbles, but there’s no doubt that they make up the shaded branches and tiny leaves of a bonsai tree, just like Joonmyun’s, or the ones they’d walked past in the gardens near his house.

“Today’s the first time I’ve seen a plant like this, so I wanted to try and draw it,” Kyungsoo explains.

“It’s really good,” he assures, and Jongin might be biased, but he still means it.

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo says. When he turns to look up at him, their faces only a few inches away- Jongin feels it stab at his heart.

Breaking away, Jongin straightens back up with a stuttered jolt. “Um-” There’s nothing else to say, no other excuse he can use, and he knows this is his cue to leave. But Jongin’s chest hurts even more at the thought of saying good night, of waking up tomorrow and having to send Kyungsoo home and trying to get on with his life. As soon as Jongin leaves this room, there are messages from Taemin to reply to, the same problems to run from, the same cycle to get stuck in, and he bows his head, not ready to yet.

“You can sit down if you want,” Kyungsoo states.

It takes a second to process what he’s just said through the heartbeat splintering Jongin’s mind, and then Jongin’s silently pulling out his desk chair and doing just that.

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo stops, the silence settling over the air as Jongin leans forward in his seat, craning to hear the rest. Now, Kyungsoo’s eyes are fixed on his lap, his fringe casting shadows over his face, and it’s the first time Jongin’s seen him look unconfident. But the way he’s twisting his pen in his hands is just as tentative as how Jongin felt a second ago.

“Would... I be able to stay longer?” Kyungsoo asks.

The shock comes first- making all of Jongin lock up at once, not believing his ears- and then, Kyungsoo looks over at him, eyes softer than ever and Jongin’s just happy, hopes rising too high as a grin breaks out across his face. “Y-yes,” he assures. “Of course you can.”

“Will your parents mind?” Kyungsoo asks, frowning slightly.

“No- they like you-” Well, Jongin’s guessing that his mom likes Kyungsoo, while his dad doesn’t care. “It’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Kyungsoo states, making Jongin nod excitedly. “Thank you,” he murmurs, gaze turned back to his notebook.

“No, don’t- it’s okay.” It’s better than okay, but Jongin doesn’t know how to express that, and Kyungsoo seems to be deep in thought about something else, anyway.

In the silence that follows, Jongin can feel the joy in his lungs slowly sink, now weighed back down by his old doubts. There’s no way for him to know what Kyungsoo’s thinking, or whether he’ll tell him anything else, and Jongin eventually averts his eyes, staring at the glass of water on the bedside table, waiting.

“Joonmyun said something to us today,” Kyungsoo says, each word slow and deliberate. Jongin listens carefully. “He said... that feeling negative towards his powers only made them stronger. I haven’t been able to forget about it, all day.”

Looking back on it, Jongin did briefly notice that Kyungsoo was even less talkative than usual. When Sehun had dragged them away from Samwon Garden to head to the nearest mall, Kyungsoo had barely complained, and at the time, Jongin had thought that he might have been getting used to the city- but that must have been too hopeful.

“Can I tell you something?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin nods as firmly as possible, even though Kyungsoo still won’t look over at him. “Do you remember the first time we met... You asked me about why the earth was broken, and I didn’t answer.”

The faultline outside Kyungsoo’s home- of course Jongin remembers. He’d tried to research it when he got home, but there was hardly any news - no pictures, only a few online articles - about the minor earthquake that had hit Gochang province back in February. And now, Kyungsoo’s swallowing, hiding his face in the shadows as he bows his head, and Jongin might learn why.

“It was because of me,” Kyungsoo states, and nothing follows.

Everything in the room lays dead still, waiting. Jongin takes in breaths as quietly as possible, scared of missing a word. After a long pause, he has to force open his dry mouth and murmur, “What happened?”

“I had an argument with my parents,” Kyungsoo says, voice even but hoarse. “I just graduated, and they wanted me to move to the city to study or find work. I didn’t want to, and we would fight about it a lot... On the day, they told me that they’d called my brother, that he was driving down and was going to make me stay at his place so that I’d stop being so stubborn about Seoul. I was-” Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut, and Jongin can barely sense it but there’s something- something in the air that’s unsettled, making the water tremble, licking up the sides of the glass. “I was _furious_ , at all of them. I ran out of my room and out the front door, and then the earth started to shake. I didn’t know what was happening, so I just kept running. The earth started to crack open under my feet, and-” Jongin can hear the faint rattling of his old bed frame- can see the ripples breaking out from the surface of the water, and he just holds his hands around his churning stomach, praying for Kyungsoo to finish quickly. “I thought it was chasing after me, but I was leading the way. I didn’t stop running until I was deep in the forest, and by then, it was too late.” In Jongin’s chest, he feels the quivering beat at his heart, making it impossible to breathe. “I broke the windows, the furniture... Most of our seedlings were fine, but- but the trees-”

Kyungsoo has to stop himself, pressing his fists into his eyes and quietly gasping, the sound barely audible over the vibrating that strains Jongin’s vision. He looks so small, and Jongin just wants to reach out to him and take his hands. But right now, he knows it might only make things worse and so he doesn’t, only twisting his fingers into the fabric of his singlet as he tries to catch his own breath back, tries to stop his teeth from chattering with the room.

It happens so slowly that Jongin thinks he’s imagining it, but after a minute, the shaking has quieted to nothing. Relieved, he lets his hands sink back to his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, and he finally turns to meet Jongin’s eyes, his own dull and tired.

“N-no- please don’t be-” Jongin stutters out. He doesn’t even know what Kyungsoo’s apologizing for, and a part of Jongin thinks that it’s not for the small earthquake that Kyungsoo didn’t seem to feel. It doesn’t matter, though, because he knows it wasn’t Kyungsoo’s fault

“When you came that day, I was trying to fix it,” Kyungsoo continues, holding Jongin’s worried gaze. “Every afternoon, I would go into the forest, to where the damage was the worst, and the trees would ask for my energy so that their roots could repair faster. It was the only thing I wanted, to erase my mistakes so that the trees would be okay and it would seem like nothing had ever happened. But now...”

“Now you’re stuck here,” Jongin finishes, looking away guiltily.

“No. Now I realize how important it is to stay.” Confused, Jongin turns to frown at him. “The trees will be alright, I’ll always be able to feel them. What I have to worry about is these- these _powers_... They’re all so rooted in emotion, and so much more complicated than I first thought.” Kyungsoo looks determined, his thick eyebrows knitted together, the fire in his eyes reignited, and Jongin can’t help but feel relieved. “Junmyeon is right. We need to find the others that are out there, and then learn from each other. It’s our best chance at being able to control our powers.”

“So we can make the world’s worst superhero team,” Jongin jokes, and Kyungsoo slits his eyes into a glare.

“So none of us destroy anything,” he corrects. “I, for one, would like to avoid causing any more earthquakes.”

Jongin just ducks his head, biting on his lip shyly. “That too.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin almost lets out laugh, amazed at how easily Kyungsoo manages to change the subject. “There are still a lot of answers out there.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you want,” Jongin assures, thinking he wouldn’t mind how many weeks- or months- it would take.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo says. So fast that Jongin barely catches it, Kyungsoo offers him one of his rare smiles, mouth curving up at the corners and lighting up his whole face for a brief second that jerks Jongin’s heart. “It’s late, now,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his lips fallen but his expression still soft.

“What- but it’s only nine o’clock!” Jongin protests, pointing accusingly at the digital clock on his desk.

“Yes, time to sleep,” Kyungsoo states, and he seems completely unaffected by Jongin’s pout. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“What do you want to do?” Jongin grumbles back. Sehun had invited himself to drop Kyungsoo off at the train station, but now, maybe Jongin will be able to sneak him out of their plans.

“I liked the gardens we visited today,” Kyungsoo says simply.

“There are closer ones,” Jongin suggests. “And there’s a park just ten minutes from here.”

“I also want to see a movie.”

This time, Jongin doesn’t manage to control the laugh that he snorts out of his nose. “What movie?”

“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo states curtly.

“I’ll look up what’s on,” Jongin says, grinning to himself. Maybe they’ll still be playing that _X-Men_ movie that Taemin wouldn’t stop rambling about. That would be ironic.

“We can decide in the morning,” Kyungsoo announces, before he sets his notebook on the bedside table. The pointed look he gives Jongin is enough sign for him to leave, and Jongin stands back up with a drawn-out sigh. “Good night, Jongin.”

“Good night, Kyungsoo,” he parrots back, and with one last lingering smile that he can feel all the way through to his chest, Jongin ducks his head and steps out of the room.

 


	5. Acte I - 4. Scene: Andante

 

❄

  
  


Sooner than Jongin expects or wants, Joonmyun contacts them again. This time, it’s to try and agree on a time to visit Minseok, who’d gotten back to Joonmyun the day after his message was sent. From the little he’d heard, Jongin had already assumed that meeting Minseok wasn’t going to be an option, and the thought of having one less uncomfortable conversation doesn’t actually bother him. But when Joonmyun explains that this might be the only chance Minseok gives them, Jongin has to force himself to agree.

 

It’s Kyungsoo who insists they go quickly, and so, after only one day to themselves, Jongin leads the route to Yeouido Island over Minseok’s Friday lunch break - Sehun left in the dark to make their host less evasive.

 

As soon as they step out of the subway station, straight into the shadows of towering skyscrapers and the chaos of midday traffic, Kyungsoo’s scowl only deepens. It obviously wouldn’t be his first choice, getting stuck in the middle of a business district, but Minseok had no other suggestions. Now all Jongin can do is hand over Kyungsoo his only face mask, hoping it can help with the exhaust fumes that clog up the air.

 

With a close hold on Kyungsoo’s bare arm, Jongin steers them through the crowds that rush by, grateful that he won’t be teleporting any innocent strangers today. They don’t have far to walk before finding Joonmyun, who Kyungsoo has to point out after Jongin almost marches straight past where he’s waiting. But in Jongin’s defense, Joonmyun looks just like with every other office worker in the area, with his long-sleeve business shirt and pants on, despite the fact that it’s 30 degrees outside, today. Jongin feels sorry for him, already sweating enough in just a singlet and shorts.

 

But he can understand the clothing choice when they find the cafe of Minseok’s choice, and Joonmyun silently steps up to the only person willing to sit outside. Covered neck to toe in a black suit, with dark leather gloves on that have Jongin hiding his own hands behind his back, Minseok seems to be completely unaffected by the heat- or maybe it’s just that he’s grown used to it.

 

As soon as they sit down and Jongin can steal a closer look, he deems every other part of Minseok just as intimidating. From his piercing eyes, to the sneer of his mouth as he speaks, to the way he methodically taps his fingers on the edge of the table, the fact that he’s ice makes perfect sense.

 

Jongin follows Kyungsoo’s lead by keeping his introduction short and to the point: name and power, the only two things that should matter. But as the seconds tick by, it becomes more and more clear that Minseok isn’t interested. If it weren’t for the stifling atmosphere, it would be a relief, because that means less for Jongin to share.

 

“Has anything happened, since the last time we spoke?” Joonmyun tries, his voice still gentle and full of useless hope even after five different variation of the same question.

 

“No, no new developments,” Minseok states, just as curt as with all his other answers.

 

As Minseok raises his steaming cup to his lips, Jongin wonders how this could be the same person that wrote such a long-winded forum post. Trying to remember the exact wording, Jongin makes the mistake of catching Minseok’s gaze. His eyes are nothing but cold and black, and Jongin darts his own back to the wooden table, his fists curling tighter in his lap.

 

“It’s been two years,” Joonmyun says, his laugh coming out light and strained. “Surely something must have changed, or you must have learnt something new about yourself and- your powers.”

 

“I could say the same to you,” Minseok counters, though his voice is more empty than accusing. “Since you claim to have found nothing except two people, both equally as lost.”

 

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Joonmyun agrees, frowning at his empty hands that lie on the table. “It… it hasn’t been easy, to say the least, to find anything helpful.”

 

“Yes, that’s why I stopped looking three years ago,” Minseok states, reaching back for his coffee.

 

“But- you agreed to meet us, today,” Joonmyun reasons, and from next to him, Jongin can see the tension clenched in his jaw, in the way he swallows. “There has to be something you can tell us,” he says, his words a quiet plead.

 

Minseok seems to consider this, his fingers stilled around the porcelain handle of his cup. For longer than Jongin can stand, they sit in silence, with nothing but the whistle of the breeze and the nearby traffic to fill the gaps left in the air. All he waits for is the first cue to leave, convinced that this was a waste of everyone’s time.

 

“How old are you?” Minseok asks abruptly, and Jongin looks up to find Minseok’s sharp gaze flicking between himself and Kyungsoo before he answers.

 

“I’m- 19,” Jongin murmurs, with Kyungsoo following a second after.

 

Minseok hardly reacts, his expression still set in stone, and during the next short stretch of nothingness, Jongin’s own questions turn back into annoyance. Before too much time slips away, Joonmyun soflty clears his throat, but whatever he wants to say is cut off without a word.

 

Silently, Minseok shifts in his seat to bring a smartphone into view. With one hand tapping at his screen, Jongin assumes that Minseok’s just ignoring them until he speaks again, his voice even and his gaze averted. “There was one other person who contacted me,” Minseok informs. “Kim Jongdae, close to your age. He might be interested.”

 

Jongin can hear a muffled ringtone being set off, just as Joonmyun hesitantly takes his phone from his front pocket. As the screen lights up, Jongin looks over to see the block of text Minseok just sent over, and his mind jumps back to that deactivated user on the forum- whatever their name was.

 

“How... how long have you had this number?” Joonmyun murmurs, his head hanging low as he stares at the message.

 

Instead of replying, Minseok only sets his own phone down on the table. After a last sip of coffee, he stands, chair scraping back against the brick floor. “Excuse me, I have to return to work, now,” he states, sparing none of them a glance as he bows his head.

 

Joonmyun barely has time to ask him to stop before Minseok has a banknote left in place of his phone, brusque steps carrying him out of the area. Craning his neck, Jongin can just catch the moment where Minseok disappears from view, seamlessly blending into the passing crowd.

 

After a moment, Joonmyun turns back to the table, shaking his head and coating the silence with a hollow laugh. “Well… It seems that we’ve learnt something.”

 

“As much as we could have from him,” Kyungsoo states. When Jongin meets his gaze, as unphased as ever, he can’t help but crack a smile, the pressure around them suddenly lifted.

 

“I suppose I’ll contact Jongdae, then,” Joonmyun murmurs, his voice quiet. “He might be slightly more... receptive than Minseok.”

 

“That won’t be hard,” Jongin deadpans, which pulls a sigh from Joonmyun.

 

“I’m sure Minseok is only trying to lead his life as normally as possible.” Joonmyun gives him a soft attempt at a smile, even though Jongin can see the sadness reflected in his eyes. “I won’t bother him, next time.”

 

Their side of the table left bare, the three of them stand and drag out the last few steps back onto the main street. “Would either of you like a lift home?” Joonmyun offers, turning back to look between them.

 

Unsure, Jongin checks Kyungsoo’s reaction. He’d already talked about taking Kyungsoo to see the cherry blossoms that Yeouido is so famous for. Now that it’s mid-July now, the trees will be covered in green leaves instead, but he figured that Kyungsoo might prefer that, anyway. But even if that's what Jongin would want, he knows how much Kyungsoo hates riding on the subway, so it shouldn’t be Jongin’s decision.

 

Luckily, Kyungsoo is quick to choose.

 

“No thanks, we’re fine,” he states, and Joonmyun simply nods, while the words have Jongin’s heart leaping in his chest.

 

The three of them part with brief goodbyes, except this time, Joonmyun doesn’t try to make any other plans with them. After watching his back fade into the crowd of workers, headed the same way they came, Kyungsoo turns around to give Jongin an expectant stare. He’s already pulled his face mask back on in preparation, and Jongin just grins.

 

“This way,” he says, confidently pointing in the opposite direction. Honestly, it’s been years since Jongin was last in Yeouido, and he has no hope of remembering where the right street is, but he’s going to wait for Kyungsoo to call him out on it before he checks.

 

Until then, they’ll just wander.

 

 

❄

 

  
  
It only feels natural for Jongin to fall into a routine with Kyungsoo.  
  
Everyday starts off the same. While Jongin’s slowly convincing Kyungsoo to sleep later and later each night, Kyungsoo’s got him waking up earlier in the mornings to keep him company. So after Jongin’s alarm has him stumbling out of bed around 9 o’clock, he lazes in his pyjamas as Kyungsoo buzzes around the kitchen. After getting over his initial hatred of the electric stove, Kyungsoo’s started to make them lunches to take out, using whatever ingredients are leftover in the fridge or whatever they picked up at the supermarket the day before. Jongin isn’t complaining- he’s loved everything Kyungsoo’s cooked so far.  
  
After a storm kept him stuck inside with an agitated and snappy Kyungsoo all day, Jongin’s figured out that he can’t stand being cooped up for too long. Jongin could have related to that before, but now, he doesn’t mind so much. Luckily, the rainy days have been spread out this monsoon season, and on the stiflingly hot ones, they always make sure to carry umbrellas and leave the house early.  
  
It's been Jongin's mission to get Kyungsoo used to the city, or at least to be slightly less angry at the noise and public transport systems. But that kind of falls through once Kyungsoo discovers a small park that’s twenty minutes from home, and then makes it impossible to drag him anywhere else. Jongin tries to ask why it’s this one and not the others they’d visited, which Kyungsoo answers in that cryptic way of his- something about the energy. But Jongin thinks he might get it, because it’s the kind of place where the air breathes easy, where the same school kids and elderly couples pass through each day, where dogs will come running up to Jongin for pats and it gives him an excuse to latch onto Kyungsoo’s arm again.

  
Under the shade of the same tree, in the middle of the same field of grass, they spend their lunchtimes, their afternoons, the start of dusk. Kyungsoo is happy to rest with his back against the bark and his eyes closed, while Jongin lays next to him, soaking in every moment and murmured sentence. When it falls quiet, Jongin reads books he’s never pulled off his shelf before, takes pictures of the clouds above them, drifts to sleep without meaning to- and every other second he’s sneaking glances up at Kyungsoo’s peaceful expression. Little by little, he closes the space between them, until he can rest his head close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of Kyungsoo’s thigh.  
  
They’re always home in time for dinner, at Kyungsoo’s insistence, and the nights are spent in Jongin’s room. Sitting side by side on his bed, they watch Hollywood movies with the subtitles on, or if that gets boring, they’ll swap songs, school memories, bad jokes that Kyungsoo only rolls his eyes at. Kyungsoo’s always the one who gets tired first, and Jongin’s always the one who’s reluctant to leave, only comforted by knowing that tomorrow will be the same thing all over again.  
  
Once Jongin has fallen into a routine with Kyungsoo, it’s like he’s never known anything else.  
  
With Kyungsoo comes an overwhelming calmness, something that Jongin hasn’t ever felt with another person- that he doesn’t think he’s felt at all: not in the studio, in the sea of crowds, or in the middle of nowhere. And Jongin doesn’t miss any of that, now that he has this.

 

 

 

ϟ

 

  
  
Things catch back up to Jongin on the next Sunday, when Joonmyun invites everyone over to meet Jongdae for the first time. Since Jongin’s already being forced into the real world, he figures they should catch up with Taemin afterwards. It’s been two weeks since he’s replied to his friend, and the texts have started piling up in his inbox, so he might as well.  
  
But as soon as Sunday comes around, Jongin finds himself stirring with dread at the thought of having to interact with another stranger, when he can still barely say a full sentence to Joonmyun. It’s becoming more and more obvious to Jongin that he’s never gotten used to talking to new people. Even when he was surrounded by ballet casts and directors, they only shoved him into the corps with all the other underage dancers where he was just expected to listen and learn. That, Jongin could do- but now he’s got nothing left to hide behind, and he really doesn’t feel like going through the same awkwardness they did with Minseok, or through the forced introductions and questioning like the last time they came here. At least he has Kyungsoo by his side, who Jongin now knows feels just as uncomfortable with socializing, even if he gets through it in his blunt way.  
  
Jongdae sets the time for 4PM, and that’s when Jongin and Kyungsoo turn up to Joonmyun’s house. By then, Sehun’s already there, coming up to greet them after Joonmyun has answered the door. But there’s no sign of Jongdae, yet, which does nothing to help Jongin’s nerves.  
  
The second their shoes are off, Kyungsoo’s up and making a silent beeline towards the backyard. Obligingly, the rest of them trail after him, fumbling through the small talk since no one has anything new to say.  
  
Outside is the exact same scene as last time, with white sheets that flutter along the humid winds, pulling back to reveal a peaceful garden. Kyungsoo doesn’t hesitate to crouch down by the flower beds, saying something to each of the plants with a frown etched on his face.  
  
“Oh dear, I hope I watered them enough,” Joonmyun jokes, the three of them hanging back on the paved stone to watch.  
  
Jongin just smiles, comforted by the familiar scene in front of them. Kyungsoo doesn’t need to, but sometimes, he speaks out loud to the nature without even realizing. It’s always in quiet whispers that Jongin can’t make out, even when he’s right next to him, and Jongin can’t help the warmth it sparks in his chest every time.  
  
Seeming satisfied with whatever he’s told, Kyungsoo straightens back up and makes his way to the tree in the middle of the yard, resting a hand on it’s thin, leaning trunk.  
  
After only a slight hesitation, Joonmyun crosses the few metres that separate them. Jongin follows out of instinct, staying close behind as Joonmyun comes to stop next to Kyungsoo, who’s eyes are still fixed on the branches that reach out above them.  
  
“It’s an evergreen dogwood, in case you were curious,” Joonmyun explains, gently smiling at him. “Or a _Cornus capita_. It was quite a struggle to import one from China, but I’ve always dreamed of owning one. The flowers are particularly beautiful in spring.”  
  
“I see,” Kyungsoo states, not budging.  
  
“I’ve done a fair amount of research on tree genuses and species,” Joonmyun continues. “I find it all quite fascinating, actually. Though I’m sure your power would provide a much more interesting insight. Do you have a favourite kind of tree, perhaps?” The question has Kyungsoo whipping his head towards him.  
  
“Trees are individuals. Why would I have a favourite and disregard all the rest?” he shoots back, glaring.  
  
“I- Right, of course, I’m sorry,” Joonmyun rushes out, clearly flustered as he rubs at his neck. Jongin feels kind of bad for him, but that doesn’t stop him and Sehun from grinning at each other.  
  
“This tree in particular is quite young,” Kyungsoo carries on, unaffected. “More playful than most, but also vainer.”  
  
“Really?” Joonmyun asks, his face beaming with more excitement than Jongin’s ever seen from him before. “Wow, Kyungsoo, that’s amaz-”  
  
“Yes, I wouldn’t dote on them so much,” Kyungsoo deadpans, making Joonmyun instantly deflate. “In fact-” Kyungsoo has plenty of criticisms about Joonmyun’s plant care, and knowing that this could go on for a while, Jongin motions to Sehun to settle on the grass with him.  
  
Through the next ten minutes of Kyungsoo’s monologue and Joonmyun’s bashful nodding, Jongin finds himself relaxing, enjoying the shade and the entertainment in front of him- until Kyungsoo abruptly stops to announce that someone’s at the front door. There’s no way any of them could have heard a knock from the other side of the house, but of course, they have to take Kyungsoo’s word for it, and Joonmyun quickly scurries back inside with Sehun bouncing after him.  
  
With a long groan, Jongin hauls himself back onto his feet. “Let’s go,” he says, smiling at Kyungsoo’s reluctance to leave the garden. Jongin doesn’t want to, either, and his nerves rise with a small spike as he leads them back into the house.  
  
Joonmyun didn’t tell them anything about Jongdae, so Jongin had no idea what he was meant to expect of him. But it’s definitely not what he sees- or hears, because a loud cackle comes echoing down the hallway before anyone’s even stepped into view.  
  
And then Jongdae comes in, still mid-laugh, and the first thing Jongin notices is that he’s ripped.  
  
The second is the undeniable charisma that sparks from him, that’s obvious in the way he strides into the room, to how he’s got the others latched onto a conversation Jongin and Kyungsoo have missed out on, to the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses indoors without it looking stupid. They suit the image he has going, with the ripped shorts and the black Rolling Stones tank top that shows off his muscled arms.  
  
It’s already obvious that Jongdae’s exactly the kind of popular kid that Jongin never tried to speak to in school- unless of course Taemin counts. That doesn’t help to put Jongin at ease, and he barely has time to gauge Kyungsoo’s reaction before Jongdae cuts short whatever he was saying to pull them in.  
  
“Hey, what’s up? I’m Jongdae,” he states, his grin big and mischievous and Jongin just blinks.  
  
“Hey- Jongin,” he replies.  
  
“Teleporting guy, right?” Jongdae asks, clicking his fingers at him.  
  
“Yeah- that’s me,” Jongin admits, and when it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to introduce himself, Jongdae just waltzes past them, dumping his sports bag on the wooden floor.  
  
“So you’re the plant whisperer, huh?” he teases. Kyungsoo just frowns at the joke, but Jongdae’s too busy sprawling himself across one of the leather couches to see.  
  
It’s obvious that Sehun’s already won over, and Jongin watches as his friend scurries to get onto the seat closest to Jongdae, with Joonmyun hesitantly taking the place next to him.  
  
“C’mon guys, get over here,” Jongdae insists, waving a hand at Jongin and Kyungsoo from over the back of the couch.  
  
After a shared glance, they move over to the last spots, settling side by side on the cold fabric. From opposite Jongin, Joonmyun tries to offer him a soft smile, but Jongdae’s quick to steal the attention back.  
  
“Sorry I’m late to the party,” he states. “Long night.” With a yawn, Jongdae ruffles up his already-messed-up brown hair, revealing the lightning bolt he’s got tattooed on the inside of his bicep. That settles any of Jongin’s suspicions. “Had a crazy gig, stayed up til, like, 5 in the morning, woke up at 3 still smashed.”  
  
“A gig?” Sehun asks, leaning out of his seat in curiosity- the opposite to Joonmyun’s stiff posture.  
  
“Yeah, nothing fancy,” Jongdae shrugs off. “Things are pretty dead at SNU since everyone’s on holidays, so the crowds were smaller than normal. Still got three encores, though.”  
  
“Aha! I knew you looked familiar!” Sehun exclaims, pointing at Jongdae in triumph. Jongin just blinks. “I saw your band perform during O week- man, you guys are awesome!”  
  
“Hey, thanks,” Jongdae says, a smirk on his face. “You go to SNU?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m in first year,” Sehun states, sitting up proudly. “Computer Science major.”  
  
“Sick, man,” Jongdae compliments. “I’m in my third year of Food and Nutrition. What about you guys?” he asks, turning to look at Jongin and Kyungsoo through his sunglasses.  
  
“Uh- we…”  
  
“We’re not studying,” Kyungsoo clarifies, which saves Jongin from awkwardly trying to skirt around the question.  
  
“Oh- well that’s cool,” Jongdae says, unphased by the information as he kicks his legs up onto the glass coffee table. “And how ‘bout gramps over here?”  
  
Joonmyun blinks between Jongdae and his bare feet, his own hands clenched together in his lap. “My course is online,” he says quietly, and to Jongdae’s expectant gesture, he adds on, “I’m doing a Bachelor of Accounting and Finance.”  
  
“Sounds lame,” Jongdae sighs out, making Joonmyun’s eyes widen in shock.  
  
“Dude,” Sehun cuts back in. “I love that song you guys did- y’know the one that’s like- ‘break me down, down, down’-” Sehun’s droning voice has no doubt ruined the English lyrics, but Jongdae still laughs, catching on.  
  
“Crush you? Yeah, I wrote the lyrics to that one,” he says, grinning. “It’s probably _Static Shock_ ’s most known song.”  
  
“ _Static Shock_?” Joonmyun repeats, looking worried.  
  
“Yeah, that’s the band’s name,” Jongdae explains, setting his feet on the floor and casually leaning an elbow onto the armrest of the couch. “We came up with it in a few minutes, and it just stuck. The ‘static’ is for our rock sound, and the ‘shock’ because-”  
  
In a quick dart, Jongdae’s lunged over Sehun to tap Joonmyun on the palm- Joonmyun a second too late in jerking his hands up to his chest. As Joonmyun stares, panting, Jongdae moves to poke Sehun on the arm, instead. But whatever reaction he wanted, all he gets back is a blank expression. Disappointed, Jongdae slumps back in his seat. “Weird... Normally that works.”  
  
“Your powers have no affect on another person with powers,” Kyungsoo informs.  
  
“Damnit,” Jongdae complains, stretching back out.  
  
“They don’t work on Sehun, either,” Jongin adds with a small burst of courage. “But he doesn’t have one.”  
  
“Yes, Sehun’s an outlier,” Kyungsoo states, making Jongin smile over to him.  
  
“Just like how Kyungsoo’s an outlier,” Sehun chimes in. “Because his power doesn’t work by touch.”  
  
“Wow, you guys have really got this figured out,” Jongdae jokes, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
“We’re still looking for the answers,” Kyungsoo says curtly, and Jongdae raises both eyebrows at him.  
  
“So then, the rumors on campus are true?” Sehun asks, successfully winning back Jongdae’s attention. “That- that you got struck by lightning one day, and now… You can electrocute people.”  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” Jongdae says, smiling through his cryptic answer. “Chicks dig it.”  
  
Jongin doesn’t miss the way Joonmyun purses his lips, or the guarded expression held on Kyungsoo’s face.  
  
“So, what do you guys do for fun ‘round here?” Jongdae asks, hands resting behind his head. “Since you can’t battle it out with your powers.”  
  
“Well, we’ve only met up once before this,” Sehun admits. “So- I’m not sure.”  
  
“Cool, let’s see what DVDs I’ve got in here,” Jongdae suggests, suddenly reaching over to grab his duffle bag. “Always gotta come prepared.”  
  
“I- Actually I was thinking we would spend more time talking,” Joonmyun says, soft voice straining to be heard over the sound of Jongdae rifling through his things. “So that we could discuss our powers further and get to know each other-”  
  
“That’s nice, gramps, but I’ve got all three _Iron Man_ movies,” Jongdae states.  
  
As Sehun jumps all over the idea, Jongin takes out his phone to check the time - 4:41PM, and three hours until they’re supposed to be at Taemin’s. A movie couldn’t hurt, since it doesn’t look like Jongdae wants to keep talking, anyway. Even if Jongin’s vaguely curious about his powers, he isn’t going to shove himself back into the middle of Joonmyun’s sharing circle to find out more.  
  
While Sehun and Jongdae loudly debate over the best installment to watch, Jongin takes the opportunity to lean over the few inches separating him and Kyungsoo.  
  
“So, what’s the verdict?” he whispers into his ear.  
  
“He’s... high voltage,” Kyungsoo murmurs back, gaze still fixed on the scene in front of him.  
  
“And you say my jokes are lame,” Jongin teases.  
  
“I don’t know how else to describe it,” Kyungsoo states, a frown pulling at his eyebrows. “His energy is intense, unwavering… It definitely has Joonmyun unsettled.”  
  
Jongin noticed that, too. Even now, Joonmyun has given up on trying to speak, and he’s hunched over, elbows rested on his knees and his eyes downcast.  
  
“Well, water and electricity don’t mix,” Jongin mumbles. Kyungsoo just turns to him with a blank look, and Jongin bites his lip shyly. “Because- the water conducts the electricity and then the current travels- unless it’s pure water, right?” Kyungsoo stares, unblinking. “It-it’s a chemistry thing,” Jongin summarises.  
  
“Show-off.”  
  
“What- that’s basic science!” Jongin splutters out. “I thought you would have learnt that in middle school at least-”  
  
“Are you calling me stupid?” Kyungsoo threatens, voice so lowered and dark that Jongin burns bright red.  
  
“Hey- you guys, stop fighting!” Jongdae cuts in, pointing an accusing finger at them. “Everyone good with the second _Iron Man_?”  
  
Sehun gives them a thumbs up, and Jongin checks to see that Kyungsoo’s still glaring at him before he shrugs, not caring.  
  
“Okay, sick,” Jongdae states, jumping off the couch and waving off Joonmyun’s offer to help him set up the DVD player.  
  
“You said you’ve seen them all, right?” Jongin asks, but when he turns back to Kyungsoo, he only gets ignored. “Soo, please don’t be mad at me,” he whines, the nickname slipping out before he can remember that Kyungsoo doesn’t appreciate being called that in the best of moods.  
  
“Bring me food and we’ll see,” Kyungsoo clips, still refusing to look at him.  
  
Jongin doesn’t think he’s _actually_ offended Kyungsoo- but then again, he can’t be sure when Kyungsoo’s speech is always this monotone. Either way, Jongin’s not going to take the risk, and he hauls himself up obediently.  
  
“There’s ice cream in the freezer,” Joonmyun weakly offers from across the coffee table, and Jongin thanks him with an awkward nod.  
  
By the time he gets back, vanilla and chocolate tubs in hand with two spoons, Joonmyun has already stolen his spot and started to chat with Kyungsoo. Heart twisting bitterly, Jongin squeezes himself into the space between them without a word, making Joonmyun quickly shift over.  
  
There’s no hurt in the smile he sends to Jongin, who doesn’t return the action. Kyungsoo, meanwhile, pointedly takes the vanilla tub out of Jongin’s hands.  
  
“So, am I forgiven?” Jongin asks, head tilted towards Kyungsoo and blocking Joonmyun from view.  
  
“Maybe,” Kyungsoo states, only concentrated on peeling off the plastic seal, but Jongin notes the small grin pulling at the corner of his lip. That might just be from the thought of ice cream, though.  
  
A sudden high-pitched roar has Jongin bolting upright- but it’s just Jongdae finally getting the DVD to play on the flat screen. Rolling his eyes, Jongin starts on his tub while Joonmyun murmurs something about fetching more food and stands up.  
  
A minute later, Jongdae’s figured out how to switch on Joonmyun’s giant surround sound system, and they’ve got no hope of hearing a word over the mechanical noises of the title screen. Jongin just settles back, letting Kyungsoo steal a mouthful of his ice cream and pretending not to notice.  
  
Kyungsoo doesn’t give him the same luxury, and Jongin spends the first ten minutes of the movie wrestling spoons with him, as Joonmyun softly chuckles along. Eventually, Kyungsoo forces them to swap tubs and starts ignoring Jongin’s playful jabs. Kyungsoo always gets sucked into movies before Jongin does, which he can’t help but find disappointing. But once Jongin starts actually paying attention to the screen, he gets distracted, too.  
  
The two hours pass by easily, in between Jongdae’s random outbursts and tossing snack packets between the couches- mostly when the other person isn’t looking. By the end, they’ve left behind a mess of chips and popcorn that Kyungsoo busies himself with cleaning once the credits start to roll. Too lazy to help, Jongin just rubs his eyes and watches fondly.  
  
“This was fun,” Jongdae states, muting the TV. “We should make this a regular thing. Try and get through all the Marvel movies.” He grins at each of them and stretches out his arms with a yawn. At some point in the movie, Jongdae took his sunglasses off, his eyes underneath still puffed and bloodshot- apparently from drinking too much the night before.  
  
“I think we could benefit from talking more next time,” Joonmyun suggests, reappearing in the room with a rubbish bag. “As entertaining as movies are, there’s still a lot we-”  
  
“So, _Avengers_?” Jongdae interrupts, and Sehun agrees straight away.  
  
From next to him, Jongin hears Joonmyun’s quiet sigh of defeat as he bends down to help Kyungsoo.  
  
“When should we meet up, then?” Sehun asks, bouncing in his seat eagerly.  
  
“I’ve got gigs most Fridays and Saturdays, so this time’s the best for me,” Jongdae states.  
  
“Alright, Sundays it is,” Sehun agrees, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied nod.  
  
“I’ll bring the snacks next time, so don’t you worry, gramps,” Jongdae assures. “You just lend your TV, and we’ll be good.”  
  
For a moment, Joonmyun is frozen in place, silent, before he straightens up. “That’ll be fine,” he says, smile plastered back on, and Jongin feels the pinch of guilt in his chest.  
  
They don’t hang around much longer, and after Kyungsoo has a quick word with the plants, Joonmyun sees the four of them off at the front door. This time, Jongin tries harder to be nice to him, but he only gets a small nod in reply, before Joonmyun shuts himself inside.  
  
Jongdae’s got a beaten-up Sedan parked in the driveway, the red paint peeled off in most places and he beckons them towards it. “Anyone want a ride?” he offers, sunglasses slipped back on as he pats the hood invitingly.  
  
Before Sehun can get them all stuck in the probably-not-road-safe vehicle, Jongin cuts in, “It’s alright, we’ve gotta catch the bus somewhere.”  
  
“Suit yourselves,” Jongdae teases, making his way to the driver’s side, before giving them all one last feline grin. “Catch you guys later.”  
  
With a wheezy start of the ignition, his loud rock music booming from the open windows of the car, Jongdae’s backed out his car and zoomed out of sight.  
  
“Wow, Jongdae’s so _cool_ ,” Sehun enthuses, and Jongin shoots Kyungsoo a quick smirk before turning back to Sehun.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure he knows you think that,” Jongin states.  
  
“I bet he’d get along well with Taemin,” Sehun muses, ignoring Jongin’s comment as he starts to make his way down the sloping driveway.  
  
“Sounds annoying,” Jongin deadpans. They’re way more social than Jongin can stand, both the kind of people that drain Jongin’s energy.  
  
“Alright, off to Taemin’s!” Sehun declares, and Jongin lets out a small groan. Now, he’s really starting to regret the fact that he made these plans, when all he wants is to get back home and collapse with Kyungsoo. But he knows it’s too late to cancel, and Kyungsoo’s giving him a judgmental look, anyway.  
  
It’s almost 7PM but the sun is still bright and beating down on them, and despite the tiredness blurring Jongin’s thoughts, he lets them drag him the rest of the way.

  

 

 

ϟ

 

  
  
“Alright, kids, let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” Taemin doesn’t waste any time with small talk, barely having greeted his guests before he’s got both hands up and rummaging around his alcohol cupboard. “Okay, there’s vodka, gin, bourbon- like, half a bottle of bourbon, and then- oh shit, Sehun, I’m _totally_ saving this tequila for you.”  
  
“Sweet,” Sehun drawls out.  
  
The three of them are leaning against the old kitchen counter, letting Taemin ramble about the cocktails he’s got planned out for each of them. Jongin should have expected this to happen- since any night time plans with Taemin seem to involve alcohol. After the last time they ended up drinking, Jongin had sworn to himself to only meet up with his friend during the day, but he doesn’t see himself getting out of this one.  
  
“Now, as for my dear Soosoo-” Jongin winces at the new nickname, seeing Kyungsoo narrow his eyes at Taemin. They’re already getting along as well as the first time they met - which wasn’t well. “Lemme guess, you’re a straight soju kind of guy, ain’t you?” Taemin questions, four bottles in hand as he waltzes back towards them.  
  
“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo states blankly.  
  
“Well, what’s your go-to?” Taemin asks, in the middle of grabbing what Jongin assumes are wine glasses. “Nothing crazy to start with. I was thinking we have cocktails, play some PS4, and then break out the shots, watch crappy horror movies, and then do shots while watching crappy horror movies. How ‘bout it?”  
  
“Sign me up,” Sehun enthuses, and Jongin’s definitely heard worse plans. He’s just hoping Taemin lets him crash on his bed early, because Kyungsoo’s gotten him used to sleeping before 11 these nights, and Jongin’s already started to yawn.  
  
“Oi- guests first, Hunnie,” Taemin tuts, slapping Sehun’s eager hands away from the bottles. “I’ve gotta make our Soosoo the best drink of his life, as soon as he tells me what he wants. C’mon buddy, lay it on me.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo repeats, this time more agitated. “I’ve never had alcohol.”  
  
At the speed of lightning, Taemin whips his head over to gawk at him. “Um, _excuse me_?!” he screeches, while Jongin isn’t even surprised by this new information. “Never- as in _nothing_? Are you five?!”  
  
“Does it matter?” Kyungsoo shoots back, glaring.  
  
“Right right, does it matter- of _course_ it matters!” Taemin exclaims, cutting off his own sarcasm. “Okay, fuck everything I said before- we’re getting this guy shit-faced. Stat,” he decides, a hand grabbed onto Kyungsoo’s shoulder.  
  
“Why?” Kyungsoo demands, pushing Taemin straight off him with a grimace. Jongin knows that Kyungsoo isn’t a big fan of skinship, which is something that Taemin doesn’t seem to have understood, yet.  
  
“Because I’m a bartender!” Taemin insists. “It’s my _job_ to collect alcohol virginites. I’ve already gotten these two smashed and they had a fucking good time, right kids?” Kyungsoo frowns directly at Jongin, who only gives him back a sheepish grin. “They totally did, and these guy are pussies.” Sehun makes a soft noise of protest in the background. “So if they can handle it, then so can you.”  
  
While Taemin sets to work on pouring different-colored liquids into a glass, Kyungsoo’s heavy stare remains fixed on Jongin.  
  
“It’ll be fun,” Jongin weakly assures, his own gaze kept down. Honestly, this doesn’t seem like the best idea - he can already imagine that Kyungsoo would be an angry drunk, in a way that’s kind of cute but mostly nerve-wracking, and Jongin isn’t sure how he’ll deal with that.  
  
“Oh yeah, we’re gonna have _lots_ of fun,” Taemin states with a wink to both of them. “Try this.”  
  
Sliding over a pale green drink, Kyungsoo leans down for a tentative sniff. “What is this?” he deadpans.  
  
“Lime daiquiri. You can only taste the sugar, so it’s perfect for a newbie,” Taemin promises, but Kyungsoo doesn’t look so convinced.  
  
“You try it first,” Kyungsoo orders, flicking his eyes over to Jongin.  
  
“Uh- sure.”  
  
Even though Jongin hates the taste of alcohol, any time he’s had a cocktail from Taemin’s recommendation list, he’s at least been able to stomach it. This drink is also bearable, with the first refreshing sweetness of the citrus quickly giving way to the burning smoke that hits the back of his throat. Jongin only just manages to not make a face. “It’s not bad,” he states, giving Kyungsoo an encouraging smile.  
  
After a moment of hesitation, Kyungsoo takes the glass off of him. Behind them, Taemin tries to start an annoying chant until Kyungsoo snaps at him to stop, and then he’s tentatively raising the rim to his lips. His expression blank, Kyungsoo takes a long sip, and then pauses- before he starts to cough and splutter when the taste kicks in.  
  
“K-Kyungsoo- are you-” Jongin rushes out, heart stuck in his throat.  
  
Taemin’s just laughing his head off as Kyungsoo continues to choke, and panicked, Jongin scrambles to get him water from the tap. After Kyungsoo has gulped down half the glass, he turns to Jongin with a look of pure betrayal.  
  
“You said it wasn’t bad,” Kyungsoo grumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
“Well- for alcohol, it’s not the worst,” Jongin defends with a wince, his cheeks heating up. Kyungsoo just narrows his glare, about to say something else when Taemin cuts in.  
  
“Alright, take two-” Taemin starts, finally having stopped cackling. “What flavors do you like?”  
  
“Not that one,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Sehun takes the opportunity to swipe the abandoned lime drink off the counter.  
  
“Can you make something with ice cream?” Jongin tries.  
  
“Yeah, no, we ain’t got ice cream,” Taemin says, a frown on his face until he suddenly snaps his fingers together. “But I’ve got the next best thing.”  
  
“Can I get another one of these?” Sehun asks, but Taemin ignores him, instead heading back for the alcohol cabinet. “... So is that a yes?”  
  
“Hold on, kid-” While Taemin’s shifting bottles around, Jongin makes the mistake of locking eyes with Kyungsoo, who’s still staring too hard for Jongin’s heart rate to die down. “Aha! Gotcha,” Taemin exclaims, and Jongin grabs the chance to break contact.  
  
“What’s this one?” Kyungsoo demands, as Taemin pours the coffee-colored liquid into a tall glass.  
  
“ _Bailey’s_ ,” Taemin states, and Kyungsoo grabs the bottle once it’s set down. With only the light of the setting sun filtering through the window, Kyungsoo has to squint to make out the tiny label. “It’s like a milkshake, I shit you not,” Taemin enthuses. “Try it straight, first.”  
  
This time, Kyungsoo doesn’t have Jongin test it, even though he seems more cautious. But the second after he’s had a sip, his eyes widen, and Jongin’s worried for a second- before they crinkle up like when Kyungsoo smiles.  
  
“Tasty stuff, huh?” Kyungsoo barely nods to Taemin’s comment, instead taking a second, longer drink. “Shit look at him go- thank god we’ve got a whole bottle left, otherwise I’d have to buy another.” Jongin can’t help but smile fondly at the sight in front of him, and he hears Taemin snort. “Alright- we need more booze in here.”  
  
Once Taemin’s sent them all off to the living room- Jongin holding a glass that’s ninety percent coke, Sehun with something blue-and-red that Taemin probably made just to show off, and Kyungsoo cradling the _Bailey’s_ that he refuses to let Jongin try- they settle around the wooden coffee table. The two couches are stained and probably more than eight years old, but they’re still as comfy as Jongin remembers. He hasn’t had many chances to sit on them, since Taemin’s never happy with staying at home when they could be out, instead.  
  
Now, he’s sharing one with Kyungsoo, both of them sinking deep into the cushions together as Kyungsoo hums and sways to a song that Jongin can’t recognize. It has to be the alcohol getting to him, and Jongin can’t resist poking Kyungsoo on his warm, pink cheeks. Lazily, Kyungsoo turns in his direction, eyes softer than usual and Jongin just beams, moving his finger to press in the lifted corner of his mouth.  
  
“Having fun?” Jongin teases, and Kyungsoo blinks up at him slowly.  
  
“Everything feels cloudy,” is all that Kyungsoo mumbles, making Jongin giggle a bit too squeakily, but he doesn’t care right now.  
  
“Okay, everyone comfy? Time to get to the good shit,” Taemin states, switching the lights on overhead. He plops down next to Sehun as Jongin pulls his hand back. “Who’s up for some ‘never have I ever’?”  
  
“I have to use the bathroom,” Kyungsoo announces loudly.  
  
“Already? Oh Jesus-” Taemin groans, shaking his head. “Second door down the hall, be fast.”  
  
WIth unsteady movements, Kyungsoo stands back up and shuffles his way down the hall.  
  
“Alright, kids, I’ll go first,” Taemin states, already pouring himself a shot even though no one’s agreed to play. “Never have I ever…” He look straight at Jongin, eyebrows wiggling mischievously. “Hooked up with that girl we met at the bar that time. Oh shit... I did do that.” Jongin swears that that isn’t how the game works, but he doesn’t stop Taemin from downing the vodka.  
  
“What girl is this?” Sehun asks naively.  
  
“I scored her number a few weeks ago,” Taemin brags. “Finally decided to call her last weekend and…” He pauses to smirk at both of them. “Let’s just say it was worth the wait.”  
  
“You’re disgusting,” Jongin grumbles, trying to ignore the lewd gestures Taemin’s making with his hands.  
  
“I know you’re just jealous, Nini- and probably about to die of blue balls,” Taemin mocks, uncapping the vodka bottle. “Lemme have another go, yeah? Never have I ever gotten _laid_ \- and it’s just me again. Cheers.”  
  
“Cheers,” Kyungsoo repeats, having just waddled back into the room before he flops right next to Jongin, bumping their shoulders.  
  
“Wow, Soosoo- I’m impressed,” Taemin admits, as Kyungsoo clinks his tall glass with him. “You better tell us all the dirty deets.” Taemin sends Jongin a wink- and it only takes a second before Jongin gets it, and he feels his heart plummet to the ground, the words searing at his chest, his head-  
  
“What are you talking about?” Kyungsoo slurs, his head lulling to the side with a frown. “Why are we cheering?”  
  
“To... nah, forget it.” Unaffected, Kyungsoo just takes a gulp of his drink, while Jongin huffs out a sigh of relief, collapsing against the pillows. His pulse quickly starts to sink back into its normal rhythm, leaving behind only a dull ache. “Man, it’s been so long since I saw you all, I almost forgot how lame you guys are,” Taemin complains. “Even Kyungsoo, like, shit- none of you ever do anything fun. C’mon, Jongin can _teleport_ and he’s still boring as fuck.” Offended, Jongin glares over at him. “It’s true, man.”  
  
“I have to go to the bathroom, again,” Kyungsoo complains, his whole body wobbling as he tries to get up. Instinctively, Jongin reaches both hands out to steady his waist, and Kyungsoo doesn’t bat him off for once.  
  
“Do you need me to come with you?” Jongin asks up to him, hoping for a ‘yes’.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Kyungsoo assures as he tries to totter out of Jongin’s hold.  
  
But with the way all of Kyungsoo’s steps almost land him into the furniture or the walls, Jongin doesn’t trust his judgment. He’s ready to jump up and follow after him, until he hears Kyungsoo’s deep laugh bursting out from down the hall. Sighing in relief, Jongin leans back into his seat with a smile.  
  
“Oh, _Jongin_. Sweet, innocent Jongin,” Taemin’s tone is knowing, teasing, and Jongin ducks his head. “Seriously, dude?”  
  
“Shut up,” he hisses, his cheeks already burning bright red.  
  
“Uh, guys... What’s going on?” Sehun asks, words hesitant.  
  
“Look, Hunnie, I’m not sure how your little heart’s gonna take this.” Taemin sighs dramatically, clapping a hand on Sehun’s thigh. “You might wanna sit down, man.”  
  
“But I’m alread-”  
  
“‘Cause our Nini’s trying to get Kyungsoo to root him.”  
  
“Hey-” Jongin snaps, glaring up at Taemin and his stupid smirk.  
  
“Geddit? ‘Root’? That’s some funny shit man-”  
  
“It’s not like that,” Jongin defends, shaking his head as Taemin snorts. He doesn’t think of Kyungsoo in that way, but what he feels is- it’s-  
  
“What is it, then?” Taemin questions, and Jongin only shrinks in on himself from the guilt. It’s bigger. It’s _worse_ \- he knows it is, and Jongin can’t make himself say it out loud, instead bringing his untouched drink up to his lips. “You _like_ him, don’t you?” Taemin taunts.  
  
The alcohol tastes bitter on his tongue, barely masked by the sweetness of the coke, but Jongin still manages to swallows it past the lump that’s growing in his throat. That’s enough answer for Taemin.  
  
“Fuck, dude,” he sighs out, slumping back in his seat. “Do you reckon he’s gay?”  
  
“What do you think?” Jongin murmurs, voice low and wavering.  
  
“Yeah- to be honest with you, man, I ain’t sure Kyungsoo can feel human emotions,” Taemin states, half-chuckling. Jongin just squeezes his eyes shut, his heart panging with each beat. “How long’s he gonna be staying with you?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jongin states.  
  
“Not much longer, yeah?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jongin repeats, hoarser. For a moment, there’s only deafening silence pressing down on the edges of Jongin’s mind, until Taemin huffs.  
  
“Look-” Taemin groans out, while Jongin just clutches his glass tighter. “One bro to another- the last thing you wanna do is go and get hung up over someone you know is gonna leave, okay? Just- trust me on that one, man.”  
  
Taemin refuses to meet Jongin’s gaze as he pours himself another shot, and it’s obvious that he’s talking about Soojung. A year later, and Jongin doesn’t think he’s heard Taemin say her name out loud in all that time. That should be enough to scare him, but when Kyungsoo stumbles back onto the couch, falling straight into Jongin’s lap and cracking up with a giant grin, Jongin thinks it might already be too late.  
  
Even when he manages to get Kyungsoo sitting upright, Kyungsoo still droops over until he hits Jongin’s shoulder, which is where he stays. His head is warm and heavy, his black hair tickling Jongin’s flushed neck, and Jongin hates how much this hurts.  
  
It doesn’t take long before Sehun excuses himself and grabs the spare room, so Taemin and Kyungsoo decide to pick out a shitty horror movie for the three of them to watch. After enough bad jokes and shots for every time a character makes a bad decision, Jongin can feel the wires around his heart loosening until he’s laughing along with them.  
  
Taemin lets the two of them crash on his double bed after it’s over, and by then, Jongin’s had too much to drink and he can barely hold a thought or a straight line together. His stomach is killing him, but all Jongin wants is to sleep it off, and he doesn’t want to miss the way Kyungsoo huddles close to him even though it’s too hot under the sheets.  
  
As Jongin drifts off, one arm numb and nestled around Kyungsoo’s shoulders, he knows that It’s definitely too late.

  

 

 

ϟ

 

  
  
A hard bang has Jongin jerking back into consciousness, and then everything starts to split his head all at once- the pounding of his heartbeat, the colors bleeding from the backs of his eyes, the crashes that scrape down his ears repeatedly. His whole body is heavy with sweat and sticking to his clothes from yesterday, and this is worse than he’s felt in ages. With a stab of regret, Jongin’s mind recalls all the shots he ended up having the night before, and this must be the hangover thing that Taemin always complains about. Jongin just never expected it would be so painfully _loud_.  
  
Hissing, he tries to bury his face back into the pillows and block out the droning noise that takes over the whole space, but no matter where he turns, it only gets closer, more grating. The sounds tear through the blood rushing around Jongin’s skull, making it impossible to fall back asleep. But as the static breaks up and the syllables finally separate, he can start to recognize the ‘jongin’s, the ‘kyungsoo’s, the ‘wake up’s- all coming out in Sehun’s raised voice.  
  
“Go away,” Jongin croaks, his throat burning and the words muffled by his pillow.  
  
“But this is important! You have to get up!” Sehun insists, shaking Jongin’s shoulder and rattling his aching head.  
  
Shoving Sehun’s arm off, Jongin already knows his friend won’t let it go until he listens to whatever he’s got to say.  
  
“Wait a sec-” he mumbles out, and even though Sehun shuts up, his panting beats down on Jongin’s head enough to be annoying.  
  
It takes a few tries before Jongin manages to pry open his heavy eyelids, and even longer for his sight to stop stinging and adjust to the darkness of the room. Where Kyungsoo should be, there’s a blob shifting around under the white sheets, while Sehun looms over them both with a panicked look on his face.  
  
“Okay, what is it?” Jongin grumbles, a hand coming up to clutch the spike it sends through his temples.  
  
“There’s a fire-” Sehun blurts out, and Jongin’s eyes fly back open. “It’s in Incheon, not here-” Groaning, Jongin just turns back into his pillow. “The police say it’s unknown causes but- but isn’t that suspicious? I just- I bet it’s got to have something to do with powers. Hey, Kyungsoo-” Sehun reaches over Jongin to pat at the body under the sheets, who snarls back at him. “Kyungsoo, I need you to listen to the transmission and tell me if I’m onto something-”  
  
“Yes, you’re right,” Kyungsoo states, still hidden, his voice coming out clear and insistent. “You have to act fast.”  
  
“Oh my god- I-I knew it.” Sehun stutters out, but Jongin doesn’t trust Kyungsoo’s straight-forward answer. “Crap, what should I do?”  
  
“Call Joonmyun and have him drive both of you over,” Kyungsoo instructs, making Sehun suck in a deep breath.  
  
“Right, okay- I’m on it. Did you guys want to come-”  
  
“No,” Jongin groans out, a second after Kyungsoo.  
  
“Okay, well- I’ll text- or call- when I know something-” Jongin can hear him stumbling around the room, but he doesn’t bother reacting. “I’ll- keep you guys posted, yeah- I’ll see you soon,” Sehun assures, and then he’s slammed the door shut - the noise piercing Jongin’s ears.  
  
Left in a ringing silence, Jongin can’t resist the temptation of scooting over and poking Kyungsoo on what must be his head. Kyungsoo flicks the covers back in response, revealing his flushed cheeks and tangled hair, with small tufts sticking up and his fringe messed to one side.  
  
“Hey,” Jongin hums. His eyelids are still heavy with the last of sleep, but Jongin forces them to stay open, so he can enjoy the sight of Kyungsoo scrunching up his face in distaste.  
  
“My stomach hurts,” he grumbles, and Jongin laughs, the sound splintering his sore lungs. “Don’t do that.”  
  
“Sorry,” Jongin murmurs, but he still shifts to the end of his pillow, leaving only a small gap between them. Kyungsoo barely reacts. “What was that about?” he asks softly.  
  
“How would I know?” Kyungsoo clips, whole body turning onto his side to frown at him. His eyes are puffier than usual, sweat sticking to the sides of his forehead, and all the traces of Kyungsoo’s affection from last night are gone.  
  
Jongin already misses it.  
  
“So, you just lied to Sehun?” he jokes. Instead of replying, Kyungsoo rubs at his cheeks, grimacing.  
  
“I’m never having alcohol ever again,” he vows, and Jongin has to bite back a smile, taking that as a ‘yes’.  
  
Jongin’s headache still hurts, as well, but not as much as a few minutes ago, and he’s sure that Kyungsoo feels worse than him after finishing a full bottle of _Bailey’s_. “Do you want water?” Jongin offers.  
  
“No, I want sleep,” Kyungsoo states, pulling the covers up to his chin.  
  
“Then go to sleep,” Jongin murmurs, even though Kyungsoo’s eyes are already shut and the room’s fallen silent, now filled with only the dull thud of Jongin’s pulse.  
  
Even in the dim light that shines through the curtains, Jongin can still trace every part of Kyungsoo’s face, from the lines between his thick eyebrows, to the tiny pores dusted along his nose, to the curves of his top lip. If Jongin weren’t worried about getting his fingers snapped off, he’d reach forward and sweep the hair off his forehead, but there’s no telling if Kyungsoo’s already asleep or not.  
  
So Jongin just moves a tiny bit closer, accidentally brushing his bare knee against Kyungsoo’s leg, but it doesn’t make him stir. Snuggling into the sheets, Jongin lets his drowsy eyes slip closed, and it isn’t long before he’s dozing off, too.

 

 

 

ϟ

 

  
  
“- police are currently still investigating the fire that broke out at the on-campus residence of Incheon National University.”  
  
Shifting on the bed, Jongin checks Kyungsoo’s face for any sort of reaction, but he only stares up at the phone blearily. Jongin turns back to the screen, to the clips of fire-fighters hosing down a charred-black building shrouded by smoke.  
  
“Flames were reported at 8.30AM this morning,” the reporter states. “But even with a quick response from the fire department, the building had already started to collapse before they arrived on scene. As firefighters continue to scour for more victims, nineteen injured are currently being treated in the hospital.”  
  
“Shit,” Jongin murmurs, watching as stretchers are carried into the back of ambulances, all lined up on the oval outside the building.  
  
“Student residents and building staff were reported to have been trapped inside the burning building due to the ignition of the fire escape.”  
  
The scene cuts to a witness, a middle-aged man speaking to the interviewers as people scurry in the background. “I could see kids jumping from the windows, from the fourth- or fifth floor. It was hard- to just watch and not be able to do anything.”  
  
“Police say they have taken witnesses from the scene for further questioning. At this point in time, a suspected electrical fault is likely the reason why the fire expanded so quickly-”  
  
The clip cuts out, reloading the live coverage, and Jongin shuts his phone off.  
  
“Do you think it was just a normal fire?” Jongin asks cautiously.  
  
“I can’t tell,” Kyungsoo states, his voice raspy from having just woken up minutes ago. He shifts onto his side, facing Jongin with a sombre expression. “Has Sehun said anything?”  
  
“No, nothing,” Jongin murmurs. Until he does, there's nothing either of them can do.  
  
“What time is it, now?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin checks his lock screen.  
  
“11,” he states. Kyungsoo nods slightly before wincing, and Jongin bites on his lower lip, worried. “Does your head hurt?”  
  
“Like hell,” Kyungsoo groans out as Jongin tries to offer him a smile.  
  
“Let me get you some water,” Jongin insists, and Kyungsoo just nods weakly, his eyes fluttering shut.  
  
The house is quiet when Jongin steps into the hallway, Taemin’s mom still not home and Taemin is probably fast asleep. In the bathroom, Jongin fills a glass and finds some painkillers he assumes Taemin won’t mind him taking.  
  
“Here,” Jongin says, gently settling back onto the bed next to Kyungsoo.  
  
With a grimace, Kyungsoo forces himself upright, letting all his weight rest on Jongin as he takes small sips of water.  
  
“Thank you,” Kyungsoo mumbles, and Jongin’s heart blooms with warmth under the press of Kyungsoo’s shoulder.  
  
“Any time,” he assures, smiling down fondly. The thought of looking after Kyungsoo until his hangover passes sounds like a good morning to Jongin, and for once, he might even have to thank Taemin for his dumb ideas.  



	6. Acte I - 5. Scene: Andantino, coda

 

১

 

 

 _WE FOUND SOMEONE!!!! Ok so long story short we got there and the fire was already out so we went to the police station, then i saw this guy walk past and he had on like five layers of burnt clothes so i was like we should try talking to him but when we tried to he ran away and we had to chase after him. But it was so cool like when he ran there was fire on the ground??? Dead giveaway tbh. Anyway we got him to come back w us, but hes pretty down. I mean i think hes a student and his room and all his stuff got burnt so that kind of sucks. Now hes locked himself in one of joonmyuns guest rooms (did u know he has like three spare bedrooms in his house???) and we cant get him to come out. This guy barely talks so we have no idea what his name is but he seems nice!!_ **Sent: 12:37**  

 _Update: his name is Chanyeol and ur good to come over tmrw!!_ **Sent: 18:21**

Once he’s reread Sehun’s messages from yesterday, Jongin shuts his phone off before stuffing it back in his pocket. His arm lightly grazes against Kyungsoo, who’s staring out the same bus window they were on two days ago, now with droplets of rain running down the glass.

“I still can’t believe Sehun was right,” Jongin jokes, glancing over at Kyungsoo’s still figure, who doesn’t move.

Leaning back, Jongin sighs. The thought of adding another reserved person to their group, especially someone who can burn down whole buildings, doesn’t sound like a good idea to him. But they’ve got nothing else to go off, so Jongin keeps his thoughts to himself.

Except for the rattling of the bus and the gentle rhythms of Bumkey that filter through their earphones, everything stays quiet. It isn’t until a few minutes later that Kyungsoo finally speaks, his voice comes out steady and blunt. “It seems that we’re all being drawn together.”

“Wait- what do you mean?” Jongin asks, frowning as he tries to peer over at Kyungsoo’s expression. “Do you think it’s happening on purpose?”

But Kyungsoo stays stone-faced and silent for the rest of the trip, even as they’re hurrying through the heavy musk and the light drizzle on the streets. By now, Jongin knows not to push it, so he doesn’t bother asking again. If it’s important, Kyungsoo will tell him about it eventually. 

When no one answers their raps on Joonmyun’s door, Jongin can already guess that the house will be unlocked. Sure enough, they can just let themselves in, and as soon as they’ve stepped through and shaken off their umbrella, the smell of cooked beef hits Jongin’s nose, his mouth instantly watering.

“God, I’m starving,” Jongin murmurs, to what he assumes is Kyungsoo.

But when Jongin straightens back up from taking his sneakers off, he finds that Kyungsoo’s already halfway down the corridor. Snorting, Jongin follows after him at a languid pace, taking the time to inhale the scents that waft from the kitchen.

Kyungsoo’s beeline to the backyard doesn’t get very far, though, because as soon as he steps through the living room, Sehun’s sprung out of nowhere and latched onto his arm. Snapping and protesting, Kyungsoo tries to brush away his hands, but Sehun hastily shushes him. From his position a few steps back, Jongin watches the scene with a frown, mostly just surprised that Sehun’s twig-like body is strong enough to haul them both towards the couch.

Kyungsoo might be short, but he’s broad in the chest and shoulders from all the farm work, and the one time Jongin made the mistake of challenging him to an arm wrestle, he got smashed into the table. Right now, though, it doesn’t look like Kyungsoo’s fighting very hard- at least for the moment _._ Jongin’s just about to call out a warning to Sehun that he’d better let go if he wants to keep all his limbs, but when Jongin catches sight of their company, he clamps his mouth shut.

From over the back of the couch, Jongin can spot a mop of scruffy, black hair flopping over a pair of wide eyes. At first peering up at Jongin in worry, when their gazes meet, Chanyeol quickly darts away, scrambling to face ahead. While Sehun drags a grumbling Kyungsoo onto the next seat, Jongin takes the spot on Kyungsoo’s other side so he can get a better view of their guest.

Hunched over on himself with his hands stuffed in his hoodie’s pockets, Chanyeol looks like some sort of terrified animal, with dark circles that could rival Joonmyun’s and black clothing that’s two sizes too big for his skinny frame. Now, his gaze is firmly glued to his lap, his body rigid and shivering as he refuses to look up at them.

“Hey, Chanyeol.” Sehun’s voice comes out in a soft murmur as he leans closer to Chanyeol, who seems to only shrink in on himself. “These guys are cool, you don’t need to worry.”

Jongin doesn’t know what he means by that, but at Sehun’s expectant gaze, he clears his throat. “Hey, uh- I’m Jongin. I- can teleport people.” It doesn’t sound any better, no matter how much he has to say it, but Sehun’s moved on to stare at Kyungsoo, now.

“I’m Kyungsoo, and apparently it’s not normal that plants speak to me.” Biting back a giggle, Jongin steals a glance at the deadpan expression that goes along with Kyungsoo’s introduction.

“Yeah, both their powers are really cool, right?” Sehun enthuses to Chanyeol, before he catches himself and brings his volume back down. “I mean- I haven’t really seen them, but- wait, actually, I did see Jongin teleport once. That was super awesome, him and our friend just went, like, ‘pop’- and they were gone! Like, without a trace! I wanted to try it, but-”

Hands crossed over his stomach, Jongin leans back in his seat, knowing that he won’t need to participate in this conversation anytime soon. As Sehun’s rambling and gesturing with his hands, Chanyeol makes no sign that he’s actually listening, but at least he doesn’t seem to be getting _more_ intimidated. Turning his own attention to Kyungsoo, Jongin finds him sending the backyard longing looks, and he just grins.

A moment later, Jongin catches sight of Joonmyun awkwardly staring from across the room, and he offers Jongin a light smile. “Is anyone hungry?” Joonmyun calls out, making all their heads perk up at once.

After being promised lunch, Jongin and Kyungsoo only stuffed down some rice and vegetables that morning, so Jongin wastes no time in jumping up and racing past Joonmyun into the kitchen. There are five ceramic bowls lined up on his marble countertop, and Jongin has to restrain himself, fidgeting as he waits for Joonmyun to step up and serve out spoonfuls of their meal. His stomach is growling by the time Joonmyun’s done, already silently claiming the bowl filled with the most udon and beef.

“Help yourselves,” Joonmyun insists, and Jongin all but rushes forward, his hands brushing against Kyungsoo’s as he reaches for his first pick.

But from the glowering look Kyungsoo gives him, Jongin just burns bright red and hobbles over to the next one. He owes Kyungsoo for all the times he’s fed him, anyway.

“The dining table’s already set,” Joonmyun says, and Kyungsoo sends Jongin a triumphant smirk before he marches out of the kitchen. 

Pouting, Jongin shuffles after him, but at the last second, he pauses to bow his head to Joonmyun. “Thanks for lunch,” Jongin mumbles, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. 

“Anytime,” Joonmyun says, his smile vaguely amused.

Finding Sehun leaned between the canvases on the wall, Jongin stops walking to follow his gaze. He has just enough time to catch a brief glimpse of Chanyeol’s retreating back, before he’s disappeared from view. As quiet steps echo out from the stairwell, barely louder than the soft rain outside, Jongin turns away.

Sehun definitely wasn’t exaggerating when he said Chanyeol didn’t talk much.

Grabbing the place next to Kyungsoo, Jongin waits for the others to get settled as he takes long sniffs of the steam that drifts up to him. Joonmyun takes his seat at the head of the table and smiles at them, before he places his palms together.

“ _Bon appetit_ ,” he says, in what Jongin thinks could pass for a French accent.

As soon as Joonmyun has started, Jongin doesn’t hesitate to snap up his chopsticks and dig in, almost scalding his tongue in his haste.

“Oh my god,” Sehun sighs out, a noodle half-dangling from his mouth. “This tastes like heaven.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Joonmyun says, smiling.

Jongin would almost agree, except that he’s gotten too used to Kyungsoo drowning all his cooking in salt and cheese, and Joonmyun’s broth tastes bland in comparison. But he’s not going to complain, not when he’s this hungry, so Jongin just sends Joonmyun a grateful nod.

“I hope that Chanyeol likes it,” Joonmyun muses, stirring his spoon. “He didn’t have much of his dinner last night, but I suspect it might have been because it was too spicy for him.”

“Did he say anything else to you- I mean, after I left?” Sehun asks, his eyes flicking over to Joonmyun.

“Yes, he did,” Joonmyun replies and he takes in a heavy breath. “Well, when I tried to bring him new clothes to wear, he refused to borrow them, and he wouldn’t let me wash his burnt ones, either. I suggested I could take him to gather any of the possessions he might need, but… he told me that everything he owned was destroyed in the fire.” Joonmyun pauses, his next words coming out more quiet, more somber. “It might be too early to say this, but I don’t think he has anywhere else to go...  I offered him a phone and a laptop, but he wouldn’t use either, as if he had no one to contact.”

Hands stilling, Jongin looks up to steal a glance around the table, at Joonmyun’s downward gaze and the worry creased in Sehun’s frown, before his eyes locks with Kyungsoo’s. His expression is as blank as ever, but Jongin knows there must be a torrent of thoughts behind it.

“He kept repeating to me that he couldn’t stay here,” Joonmyun says, breaking Jongin’s concentration. “Even though I tried to assure him that it wasn’t going to be a burden, he still seemed to be upset about it.”

“Maybe he thinks we’ve kidnapped him,” Sehun jokes, and Joonmyun’s lips quirk up slightly.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “But there’s no one stopping him from leaving.” Joonmyun lets out a soft sigh. “As long as he wants to, he can call this place his home and I won’t mind. In fact, I’m sure that I’ll enjoy the company for a change.”

Sehun just hums, turning back to his food as Jongin does the same. For a few moments, the room is filled with the sounds of metal clinking against ceramic and slurping, the rain outside only a light patter against the windows. Jongin’s deeply focused on twirling a stubborn noodle around his chopsticks when Joonmyun next speaks.

“Have any of you seen the news from this morning?” he asks calmly.

“You mean the things about Zhang Yixing?” Sehun clarifies, and Jongin whips his head up to see Joonmyun nod. “Yeah, I saw that. Is he really going to come to Incheon?”

“He’s scheduled to arrive at 2PM,” Joonmyun replies. “I’m hoping I can still catch him in time.”

“To- to meet him?” Jongin asks, barely able to stop himself from gawking at Joonmyun. In his defense, Zhang Yixing is probably one of the most well-known celebrities out there, and by far the most sought out, since nobody’s ever found any other miracle healers walking around.

“Yes, If I’m lucky enough,” Joonmyun says, smiling over at him. “I can imagine it’ll be a struggle to catch him alone.”

“But- what are you going to say to him?” Sehun asks, sounding as shocked as Jongin feels.

“It depends how long I can speak to him,” Joonmyun answers. “Ideally, I’d like to ask him about his powers, if he’s found any others, and to see if he wants to meet you all.”

“Wait- meet _us_?” Sehun asks, panicked.

Having to assure himself that there’s no chance of that actually happening, Jongin coughs out a sharp breath, trying to suppress the nerves rising in his lungs. By his side, Kyungsoo’s just fixing him with a judgmental stare. He’s obviously not sharing the same star-struck feelings.

“You’re more than welcome to come,” Joonmyun offers, his gaze passing between them all. 

“Yeah, uh- thanks, but I think I’m just gonna hang back and try to lure Chanyeol out of his room,” Sehun states, while Jongin’s vigorously shaking his head.

“Well, than I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you with the dirty dishes,” Joonmyun jokes, a light twinkle in his eyes.

It beats making an idiot out of himself in front of an international icon, so Jongin happily takes on his normal job of drying while Kyungsoo’s wrist-deep in soapy water, and Sehun’s opening up all the different cupboards to try and figure out where Joonmyun’s stuff goes.

“Man, he’s got, like, twenty different dinner sets,” Sehun says in awe, before Jongin hears him swing open another door and gasp. “There’s a _chocolate fountain_ in here that he’s not even using!" 

“You can set it up if you want,” Joonmyun suggests, his soft steps padding back into the kitchen. “Anything in this house is free for you to use.”

“Woah, seriously?” Sehun murmurs, and Jongin makes a face at all the glasses he’s got waiting on the dishrack, all because of his friend’s short attention span.

“Of course, and please help yourselves to the food, as well,” Joonmyun offers. When Jongin turns around, he sees Joonmyun standing at the edge of the kitchen counter, smiling back at them. “I should be back before the evening.”

Jongin nods, bumbling through an awkward goodbye as Joonmyun straightens up and sends them a small wave.

“Drive safe,” Sehun calls out, now having moved on to ransacking the walk-in pantry. 

As Jongin’s distracted with thoughts of how they can make a quick escape- if he could still use his parents as an excuse even though they’re both at work, today- Kyungsoo takes the opportunity to splash him with a handful of lukewarm water. With a gasp, Jongin jumps back a second too late, his T-shirt already soaked through and making the fabric stick to his skin.

“Hey!” he whines, looking up to pout at the glint in Kyungsoo’s narrowed eyes.

“Pay attention,” he quips, and Jongin wipes down his chest before grabbing the bowl from Kyungsoo’s hands.

As silence settles over the house, softened by the quiet lapping of water and the squeaking of his towel, Jongin lets out a sigh. It’s a familiar scene, the two of them washing dishes, and it’s easy for him to relax into the rhythm, into the way his elbow still bumps against Kyungsoo’s, even though Joonmyun’s kitchen is twice as big as the one at home.

“So what did you think of Chanyeol?” Sehun interrupts in his nasally voice, making Jongin start. Sehun’s head is suddenly sticking out of the pantry, and Jongin blinks at him.

“Uh…” Jongin pauses, his eyebrows pulling into a frown. “He seems- quiet? Scared? I dunno, why are you asking?”

Sehun ignores him, his gaze fixed solely on Kyungsoo, who doesn’t bother to look up from the cutlery in his hands. “Hey Kyungsoo, what did-”

“I didn’t think much,” he states bluntly.

“No, but, I mean... what _vibes_ is he giving off?” Sehun whispers, stepping back into the kitchen.

“Can’t you answer that?” Kyungsoo clips back.

“Okay, what I mean is like- not vibes but, what can you see? Like, you know with the people on the forum, you could tell who had powers and stuff, right?” Kyungsoo doesn’t answer, but Sehun presses on. “You could, so doesn’t that mean you must have a telepathy thing going for you- or maybe-”

Over his shoulder, Kyungsoo shoots a glare at him, making Sehun’s words die in his mouth. “I don’t read minds,” Kyungsoo snaps. “I’m not some kind of psychic.”

Groaning, Sehun hangs his head, defeated. “Alright, never mind then,” he sighs out, just about to turn away when Kyungsoo speaks again.

“All I can tell you is that his power is strong, and it’s barely being held below the surface.”

“What does that mean?” Sehun asks with a step towards them, and Jongin watches Kyungsoo pull the plug, letting the water drain from the sink.

“It means to be careful.” With a cold stare, Kyungsoo turns to face them. “The fire is not in his own control.”

Sehun hums, nodding as he seems to consider his words. “So… what you’re saying is that we should keep an extinguisher in the house, right?”

“No, that isn’t what I said,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin huffs out a laugh.

As Kyungsoo busies himself with opening cupboards and packing away dishes, Jongin rests his back against the counter with Sehun, who’s got a deep frown etched on his face.

“Okay, but,” Sehun cuts back in with a moment later. “... Is it just me? Or is he, like, kinda hot?”

“What, Chanyeol?” Jongin asks, while Kyungsoo doesn’t slow in his movements. At Sehun’s nod, Jongin just shrugs, uncaring. “Didn’t really notice.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool,” Sehun drawls, a hand coming up to rub his neck. He briefly meets Jongin’s stare, before his eyes dart to Kyungsoo’s turned back. “So, what are we gonna do, now?” 

This is the perfect time for Jongin to use one of his half-hearted excuses to go home, but he doesn’t get the chance to, because Kyungsoo’s suddenly straightened and started to march out of the room without a word. 

“Well, I guess we’re meant to stand in the rain as Kyungsoo catches up with Joonmyun’s plants,” Jongin murmurs, more to himself than to Sehun.

Before Sehun can reply, Jongin stretches his arms out with an amused sigh, and then he’s following Kyungsoo into the backyard.

 

 

১

 

 

With a pout pulling at Jongin’s lips, he leans back against his desk, gaze flicking between the two objects in his hands. It’s going to be a tough call.

“Okay, should we start from season one?” he asks, turning to face Kyungsoo, who’s sitting against the headboard of Jongin’s bed. “Or, should we watch _Pororo’s English Show,_ first?” He has both cases held out to inspect, but Kyungsoo doesn’t even bother to glance at them.

“Either,” Kyungsoo clips, his concentration fixed only on the sketchbook he has balanced on his lap, and Jongin whinges.

 “But this was _your_ idea,” he reminds Kyungsoo.

There’s no way Jongin would have suggested watching _Pororo_ on his own, and that morning, when Kyungsoo had dug the old DVDs out from the clutter under Jongin’s bed, he’d pretended to know nothing about them. But it didn’t take much staring before Jongin faltered, quietly admitting that Jungah had bought them as a birthday present a few years back to help with his English, and that they actually _had_ been useful. What surprised Jongin, though, was that instead of making some snappy remark, Kyungsoo announced that they’d watch them when they got back home.

Except now, Kyungsoo’s slitting a glare up at him as if this is all somehow Jongin’s fault. “You choose, or we’re spending the night drawing,” Kyungsoo threatens. Seeing how Jongin’s face scrunches up, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, before he turns back to shading the edges of a tree branch.

They’ve already had enough failed art lessons in the past week, just because Jongin made the mistake of asking Kyungsoo to show him how to sketch. But it turns out that Kyungsoo’s not a very patient teacher, and Jongin’s way too much of a perfectionist to be okay with the ugly blobs he leaves on the page.

“Alright, then,” Jongin sighs out, quickly admitting defeat. By now, he should know better than to argue with Kyungsoo, who’s probably the most stubborn person that Jongin’s ever met. Picking a DVD on a whim, Jongin drops the other back onto his neatly-arranged desk. “This one.”

Kyungsoo stares up at him, a frown casting his eyes in shadow. “The English one?”

“What- no, this is the first season,” Jongin says, double-checking the front cover. “Yeah, see?” He holds it out for Kyungsoo, who only scowls harder.

“I don’t.”

“You can’t read this?” Jongin asks in horror as he whips his head between the DVD and Kyungsoo’s squinted stare. “But it’s right in front of you!”

“So?” Kyungsoo clips, looking away with a huff. “That’s normal.”

“No it isn’t!” Jongin protests. “I could make this out from ten metres away.” He knows he’s exaggerating, but still, the yellow font isn't exactly small. “How- but how long have your eyes been like that?”

“My eyes are fine,” Kyungsoo states, his scrawling only getting louder.

“No, they’re not- they’re-”

“You’re worrying too much,” Kyungsoo chides, and Jongin sucks in a breath, his head spinning with this new discovery.

“Okay, can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” he asks, taking a step back to the door and raising a peace sign.

“Yes, two. So there’s no problem,” Kyungsoo concludes, before he turns back to his drawing.

“But there still is,” Jongin grumbles, more mad at himself than anything. He doesn’t know how he could have spent the past two weeks with Kyungsoo and never noticed that everything’s been just a blur to him. The thought has his heart curling in on itself, and Jongin drags a hand through his hair, regretful. “Your- your eyesight sucks and you should be getting glasses to fix it.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Kyungsoo states firmly.

“But you _should_ ,” Jongin whines, marching over to flop onto the middle of the bed. “I don’t want you getting run over by a bus or something.”

“Then learn to drive so we can stop catching them,” Kyungsoo states, not looking up.

“Hey- no, you’re older than me,” Jongin throws back, his same argument for whenever they’ve had this discussion, which has been a lot, lately.

“And you’re younger than me. Respect your elders and drive for me,” Kyungsoo orders, like he always does, and every time, it has Jongin’s chest squeezing, his hopes flying too high with the thought that maybe Kyungsoo wants to stay in the city.

But Jongin can be stubborn, too, and he’s not going to let Kyungsoo win the fight that easily. 

“Well, you owe me for all the free meals my parents have made you,” Jongin counters. “So you should learn first and work as my chauffeur to pay back your debt.” 

“I can’t, I’d need glasses,” Kyungsoo deadpans, but Jongin doesn’t miss the way his lips quirk slightly. 

“Then let’s get your eyes tested,” Jongin says, tone softened as he scoots over so he’s brushing against Kyungsoo’s crossed legs. “We could even try to book it for tomorrow,” he suggests. It’s not like they’d made any other plans for their Thursday- or is it Friday by now? Jongin’s lost track.

“I was only joking,” Kyungsoo states with a barely-noticeable roll of his eyes. “I’m not buying any glasses. They’re too expensive.”

“But your grandma would pay if she knew how badly you needed them,” Jongin points out.

 “That doesn’t matter, I’m still not going to,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin pouts at the way Kyungsoo’s grimacing down at his book.

“You need them, though!” he insists.

“They wouldn’t suit me.”

“But they’d be cute,” Jongin blurts out- and his heart leaps up with the words, getting lodged in his throat from the glare Kyungsoo shoots him. Suddenly, their faces are too close, barely a breath apart, and Jongin tries to swallow, coughing slightly. “I mean, you- you’d look just like Pororo,” he jokes hoarsely, having to bring the DVD up to hide his burning cheeks.

“That’s not a compliment,” Kyungsoo says, but without the usual bite in his voice.

Eyes glued to the blurb on the back of the case, Jongin’s about to suggest they play the first disc so that he can stop himself from saying any other stupid things, but a loud buzz cuts him off. It’s Kyungsoo’s old brick of a phone, lighting up from where it lies on the edge of Jongin’s desk, but Kyungsoo’s makes no move to check it.

“Sehun’s coming upstairs,” he informs. His gaze doesn’t waver from Jongin, who barely has time to make sense of what he said before there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Kyungsoo calls out, just as Jongin scrambles over to widen the distance between them.

Of course, it’s Sehun who walks straight into the room, his face flushed red and scrunched up in a weird expression.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jongin asks, lost as Sehun stops at his desk and snaps open his laptop. It feels like Jongin was only just with Sehun where he was being his weird, normal self. But now, up close, he looks more distressed than Jongin’s ever seen him before, with his eyebrows stitched tight together and his mouth curled down in pain, and Jongin stares at him, worried. “Sehun, are you okay?”

“I found- um- something,” Sehun mutters, his breathing uneven over the sound of his tapping. “I just need Kyungsoo to take a look at it.”

Without warning, he’s flipping the screen around and dropping it on Kyungsoo’s lap, who rearranges himself to rest his back to the wall.

“Can you read over them- and just- just tell me what they’re saying,” Sehun rushes out, but Jongin can barely hear what he’s saying over the words screaming at him from the top of the page. 

 _Teenage girl burnt to death in house fire,_ enlarged and bolded, is hung above two photos. One is of a pretty, smiling girl, but Jongin can only stare, his heart stopped, at the boy shown next to her. He looks completely dishevelled, his hair a frizzy mess, eyes bloodshot and sunken as they stare at the camera, but there’s no doubt that it’s the same person Jongin was looking at two days ago. Kyungsoo scrolls through the story fast, and Jongin’s barely able to catch the details- the name _Park Chanyeol_ jumping off the page jumbled with ‘boyfriend’, ‘discovered the scene’, ‘taken into custody’- but it’s enough to make Jongin’s stomach drop sickly.

“How...”

“There’s more-” Sehun states, not slowing as he paces the same few steps over and over in front of them. “Kyungsoo- you- you have to look at all of them-”

Obligingly, Kyungsoo clicks to the next tab, at another news title that reads _Boyfriend accused of burning girlfriend alive to stand trial next week_ . Not bothering to read the article, Kyungsoo moves to the last tab, _Teenage male acquitted of murder charges from lack of evidence - parents of victim in shock_ , before wordlessly shutting the laptop and setting it aside _._ In the few moments of silence, Jongin lets out a sharp sigh, nausea swirling heavy through his body.

“So what are these- these _things-_ ” Sehun asks, his gestures frantic as he grapples for words. “What do they mean- how-”

“Didn’t you read the articles?” Kyungsoo asks, flicking a gaze up at him.

“Yes, but they don’t make sense! And I can’t-” He stops right in front of them, head hung as he takes in a shaky breath. “Just... tell me it’s not what they’re saying it is,” he murmurs, peering up through his fringe with pleading eyes.

“I already told you about this,” Kyungsoo states, not missing a beat, and Sehun’s face twists up.

“ _What_? No- no, you didn’t, you said that his power was a bit iffy, yeah, but you didn’t say anything about Chanyeol being a- a-” Sehun clamps his mouth shut, expression pained as he rubs the back of his neck. “And what about the fire at the dorms, right? What if we were supposed to turn him in to the cops, but instead we’re just- helping him hide?”

“You don’t believe that, so there’s no reason to ask,” Kyungsoo states, his tone sharp and accusing.

“I don’t _want_ to believe it, but...” Sehun sighs, head sinking into his hands as he squeezes in between them. Guiltily, Jongin tries to pat Sehun on his shoulder, but Sehun only turns to face Kyungsoo, and Jongin lets his arm drop. “I mean, I’ve _talked_ to him- like he actually said stuff to me, today, and I though we were getting along. But then I find this out and it’s- it’s like, what am I meant to believe?”

“You have to make your own judgments,” Kyungsoo says, as if that was obvious, but Sehun only rubs at his eyes, groaning.

“Can’t you just... give me some- obscure emotional reading on him so I know he’s not going to try and murder us anytime soon?” Sehun asks, desperation raising his voice.

“Chanyeol has no desire to harm anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. If he did, I would have told Joonmyun not to let him stay,” Kyungsoo explains, and Jongin locks eyes with him over Sehun’s hunched back. Kyungsoo’s glare is deep, eyebrows furrowed like they always are, and Jongin takes his word for it, knowing he can trust Kyungsoo more than those articles.

“So, he’s not dangerous, then?” Sehun presses.

“I can’t say that,” Kyungsoo says, the words tinged with regret. “He has no control over what his power does. But now that you know what it’s capable of, I expect you’ll be careful.”

“Yeah, roger that,” Sehun mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm.

“Don’t worry, Kyungsoo will protect us,” Jongin says, and the way Kyungsoo’s frown deepens has a tentative smile pulling at Jongin’s lips. “Even though he’s small, no one could take him down in a fight.”

“Do you want to test that?” Kyungsoo threatens, which has Jongin shutting up straight away, the room plunged back into a silence that doesn’t feel as overbearing, now.

“Hey- would you guys mind if I stay with you, tonight?” Sehun asks after a long moment, his hands still fidgeting in his lap. “This is just gonna drive me insane, otherwise... Plus it takes, like, half an hour to bus home from here.”

Gnawing on his lip, Jongin knows it’d be shitty of him to say no. Sehun doesn’t normally stay up late, so he can just lay out an air mattress in his sister’s room or something once they get tired. “Yeah, no problem.”

“We’re watching _Pororo_ ,” Kyungsoo informs, and Jongin can’t help but let out a loud laugh.

“Seriously? Man, I haven’t seen Pororo since I was ten,” Sehun says, starting to grin.

“Well, you can blame Jongin,” Kyungsoo states. He cuts Jongin a sharp glance, who gawks back. “It was his idea.”

“Fine, then we can watch it in English, without subtitles,” Jongin taunts, and Kyungsoo frowns at him in offense.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll still need them,” Sehun sighs out. “I mean, I barely passed English in high school, remember?” He doesn’t spare Jongin a glance as he says this, instead shuffling back to rest against the wall.

“I bet you can’t be worse than Kyungsoo,” Jongin jokes, trying to catch Sehun’s gaze. But Sehun’s eyes are lowered, fingers picking at the frays in his ripped jeans, and Jongin assumes he’s still in shock over the Chanyeol thing. With a short sigh, Jongin hauls himself off the bed so he can grab his laptop from off the desk chair. “Alright, move over,” he murmurs to Sehun, before adding on a ‘man’ to be polite.

As Jongin wedges himself in the small space between them, he takes the opportunity to squirm into Kyungsoo’s side, who just glares back at him, his eyes dark.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the glasses thing,” Jongin hisses, which has Kyungsoo scowling.

“We’ll see. Now play the DVD,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin snorts out a laugh before he opens up his laptop.

 

 

➕

 

 

Sunday comes around too quickly, and if Jongin wasn’t already dreading the fact that he has to give up his alone time with Kyungsoo, then getting bombarded as soon as they step into Joonmyun’s house is enough to make him regret coming.

“Thank god you guys are here,” Jongdae exclaims, clapping an unwelcome hand around Jongin’s shoulders while he’s still in the middle of getting his shoes off. “You have to help me out.” Without warning, Jongin’s getting twisted and forcefully dragged to the living room, barely having enough time to kick his sneakers towards the front door. “Sehun’s killing me right now.”

“Hey, I’m not!” Sehun defends as he stumbles in front of them, trying to walk backwards and gesture at Jongdae at the same time. Well, at least he seems fine, today, Jongin thinks to himself. “All I’m saying is that he’s got way better morals and actually has strategies-”

“Woah, woah, let’s get some second opinions on that. Guys-” Jongdae drags him down onto one couch, keeping his arm and the strong stink of cologne slung around Jongin. Kyungsoo, meanwhile, calmly settles on Jongin’s other side, having avoided Jongdae’s attack. “Let’s be real, Iron Man is no doubt the best Avenger, right?”

“No way, bro, it’s obviously Captain America,” Sehun argues over Jongdae’s noises of outrage. “C’mon, everyone knows that.”

Sehun flops onto the seat diagonal from them, leaning over the opposite armrest to the one Chanyeol’s squished himself into. Nothing’s changed from the last time, and Chanyeol’s still curled in on himself with his gaze fixed down, but now Jongin has to swallow the unease that creeps up his throat from the sight of him.

“God dammit, you’re so wrong,” Jongdae laughs out. “Back me up here, guys.”

“Yeah, Iron Man’s better,” Jongin says, not caring about the argument as much as he does about prying Jongdae’s hand off of him.

“See? Jongin’s got _taste_ ,” Jongdae mocks as he stretches his arms above his head. “Captain America’s just a nerd on steroids.”

“And Iron Man’s just a metal suit,” Sehun throws back. “But even without their powers, Steve Rogers is a way better person than Tony Stark, which makes him the better hero.”

Resting back against the leather fabric, Jongin just rolls his eyes. After hearing all of Sehun’s rambles through the years, Jongin knows that he’s just getting defensive because he thinks Captain America’s super hot, but it’s not like he could tell Jongdae that. 

“Who cares about personality?” Jongdae whines out, his voice loud and high-pitched. “Iron Man would win in a fight and that’s what counts. Okay, so we’ve got two votes for Iron Man, Chanyeol’s giving us the silent treatment so that counts as three-” Jongdae barks out a yell to drown Sehun’s protests. “Chill, man, you’ve already got two votes for Captain America, thanks to gramps over there,” Jongdae seethes out, pointing over his shoulder at the kitchen. “So Kyungsoo, wrap this up for us.”

The three of them turn to Kyungsoo, who’s cutting them all an unimpressed stare. Ever since the other night, Jongin’s noticed that Kyungsoo does this squinting thing whenever he’s focusing on something, which just makes him look like he’s always got a scowl on his face, like right now. But Jongin’s gotten used to it, and he doesn’t think that’ll change, even when he does get his new glasses.

Jongin wasn’t expecting it, but the day after Sehun showed up, he managed to drag Kyungsoo to the optometrist without much of a fight. Now they’re just waiting for his order to be ready for pickup, and Jongin bets that Kyungsoo was almost happy to see the others, just so that he could get away from Jongin’s non-stop babbling about it.

“C’mon, Iron Man or Captain America, you gotta pick,” Jongdae urges, almost impatiently.

“I vote for Thor,” Kyungsoo states, then calmly standing and stepping away from the chaos he’s unleashed.

 _"Thor?_ Seriously?!” Jongdae hollers after him. “No one says Thor!”

“He’s the least annoying,” Kyungsoo quips, just as Joonmyun appears from the kitchen and hurries up to him before he’s escaped to the backyard.

Over the sound of Sehun and Jongdae’s bickering, Jongin can’t hear what Joonmyun’s saying. Whatever it is, though, Kyungsoo just nods in response. With a frown, Jongin watches as Kyungsoo marches back over and takes the same spot on the couch, but he barely gets spared a glance.

“Guys, are we gonna watch _Avengers_ or what?” Jongdae complains, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. “I’ve got _all_ the special features on here, y’know.”

“I’m afraid that’ll have to wait,” Joonmyun announces, walking over to them. “We actually have a visitor coming, and if he’s as punctual as they always say, then he should be here any moment.” There’s a light smile on his face as he sets a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and Jongin’s stomach twists with realization.

“Aw, gramps, you should have warned me,” Jongdae chides, barely heard over the blood that’s started to pound through Jongin’s head. “I’d have brought more snacks.”

“I can assure you I have enough stocked up.” Head suddenly turned to the front of the house, Joonmyun doesn’t hesitate to straighten back up. “I’ll go get that,” he assures.

“Please tell me it’s not who I think it is,” Jongin rasps out, hoping for some sort of assurance from Kyungsoo, but he only gets back a blank stare.

A moment later, when Jongin’s sure he’s going to double over from the light-headedness, Joonmyun steps back into the room with their new guest, and as soon as the white baseball cap and face mask are pulled off, Jongin silently curses. 

How Joonmyun managed to convince the famous Zhang Yixing to come over, Jongin can’t even imagine. But here he is, just as handsome as through a television screen, except that his eyes are red-rimmed, his cheekbones sharp, and he’s a lot shorter than Jongin would have expected.

Jongdae must be just as shocked, because he’s letting out swear words from next to Jongin, voice loud and unfiltered.

“No _fucking_ way,” he laughs out. “Am I dreaming?”

Jongin wishes they were, but Yixing’s standing just a few metres away. He’s in the middle of saying something to Joonmyun when he turns to look over at them and smiles, his cheeks dimpling as he waves.

“Oh god, he saw me,” Jongin mumbles, burying his face in his hands. As the couch squeaks from Jongdae getting up, Jongin can feel warm fingers wrapping around his wrists.

“What are you so worried about?” Kyungsoo demands, and Jongin peeks through his hands to see Kyungsoo’s frowning face only centimeters away.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” Jongin whispers.  

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” Kyungsoo clips, and Jongin grimaces at him before turning to spy on the scene behind them.

Somehow, Jongdae’s already gotten his phone and sunglasses out, he and Yixing both holding up peace signs for the camera. Poking his taller head above them is Sehun, who also raced up and is now bouncing on his feet like an over-excited dog while Jongdae counts down for the shot.

“Say ‘kimchi’! Alright, sweet. Man, this is so awesome” Jongdae states, grinning down at his screen. “Everyone I know is gonna be jealous. Gramps, how could you not tell us about this earlier? I could’ve brought the whole band along.”

“That’s what I was hoping to avoid,” Joonmyun explains patiently. “I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to Yixing’s visit.”

“It’s alright,” Yixing assures. His voice is sweet and thickly accented, while an innocent smile plays at his lips. “No matter what I do, there seems to be a lot of attention.”

“You see, gramps?” Jongdae chides, sending a quick smirk to Joonmyun before he spins back to Yixing. “Hey, you know, I’ve got this wicked hangover from last night, so if you’ve got some healing to spare that’d be sick-”

“But... I mean, shouldn’t it not work on you?” Sehun carefully asks.

“Oh, man, that thing again,” Jongdae groans out, but he still holds out a hand for Yixing, who high-fives him without hesitation. “Nup, my head still hurts like a bitch- pardon the French, gramps.”

“Why is that?” Yixing asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“We dunno why, but our powers don’t work on each other,” Jongdae sighs out. “Like I can make electricity- lightning, static, all that cool stuff. So it should have shocked you when we touched, but nothing happened."

“Oh,” is all Yixing says, blinking and still looking just as confused after Jongdae’s explanation.

“So, should we move to the couches?” Joonmyun weakly suggests.

“Good idea, gramps,” Jongdae enthuses, already leading the way with a hand on Yixing’s shoulder. “We’ve got a nice collection of powers, here,” he explains, Jongin failing to duck out of sight before Jongdae starts to point to everyone on the couches in turn. “There’s Kyungsoo, the guy who talks to plants, then Jongin, who teleports-” As Yixing’s gaze meets his, Jongin plasters on an awkward smile, holding his breath until Jongdae’s moved on. “And Chanyeol’s our latest find, he sets stuff on fire.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Yixing says, calmly taking the seat Jongdae gestures to, while Sehun settles back onto the same couch as Chanyeol.

“Would anyone like a drink, or any food?” Joonmyun offers, hovering by Yixing’s side, who smiles up at him.

“Just a green tea, please. I won’t be staying long,” he assures.

“Aw, seriously?” Jongdae whines, just as Joonmyun scuttles back to the kitchen. “You only just got here!”

“Yes, but my driver’s waiting outside and he’s not very happy with me, today,” Yixing explains with a frown. “He said if we don’t get back to Incheon airport on time, he’ll have to cut off my ears as punishment.”

“Wait- so have you got your private jet parked out there?” Jongdae asks, leaning forward in excitement. “Can you take us for a spin?”

“Well…” Yixing looks slightly taken aback, but he brushes it off with a smile. “You won’t be allowed into Syria with us, but you can come and go skydiving before we land.” Honestly, Jongin can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Uh- sorry, but-” Sehun clears his throat. “Isn’t that dangerous? Going to Syria?”

“Yes, it is,” Yixing agrees. Jongin waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t, the silence taken up by the whistle of the kettle from a wall away.

“Hey, can you tell us about your powers?” Jongdae jumps back in with. “Like, what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done with them?”

“Oh, well my powers do a lot of cool things,” Yixing says, before he pouts for a moment, thinking. “I suppose… did you know that even after someone’s heart stops beating, sometimes they can still be saved?”

“Wait, you’ve done that? You’ve brought people back from the dead?” Jongdae demands, hanging over the edge of his seat.

“Not exactly,” Yixing corrects. “It depends on a lot of things-”

“So you can heal _anyone_?” Jongdae asks in awe, and Yixing blinks at him.

“I- No... No, not anyone,” he says, shaking his head. “There have been lots of times where I wasn’t fast enough...” There’s the smallest lilt to his voice, the sentence left unfinished, and Jongin can’t even imagine the weight that must come with Yixing’s power. 

“Hey, it’s still cool, though,” Jongdae assures, letting out a small laugh.

Quietly, Joonmyun steps in front of Jongin, blocking Yixing from view as he sets a tray down on the coffee table.

“Would anyone else like tea?” Joonmyun offers, already pouring Yixing’s out.

There are enough cups for anyone, but Joonmyun only has to pour three before he straightens back up. Shuffling to the middle of the couch, Jongin leaves enough space for Joonmyun to join them, as Kyungsoo slits him a brief glare for jostling his drink.

“You’ve just reminded me of something,” Yixing starts, gently stirring his drink and addressing no one in particular. “A few years ago, I met a man in Guangzhou. He fell off a two-storey building and fractured his leg, but my healing wouldn’t work on him. I went back twice, and I still couldn’t fix his leg.” His gaze is down, his face cast in shadows, and it makes him look years older. “By the third time I could visit, he had already left the hospital.”

“So... maybe he had powers, too?” Sehun tries.

“Maybe,” Yixing says, blowing the steam off the rim of his cup. “I never found any other explanation.”

“Would you be able to find him?” Joonmyun asks quietly.

“Oh no, Guangzhou is huge,” Yixing says with a pout. “There would be thousands of people with the same name as him... But it’s a pity, because I’m wondering what other powers there are.”

“Who knows?” Jongdae muses. “There’s probably heaps out there that we’ll never find out about... But hey, look at us! We’ve got half the elements here, and a teleporter! Add a healer to that and we’re set to be a pretty decent superhero group,” he jokes, stretching his arms above his head.

“I- I don’t think we could be superheroes,” Joonmyun states, his laugh hollow.

“You don’t know that,” Jongdae counters. “A supervillain could pop up any day now, and we’ll be the ones that have to save Earth’s ass.”

“That’s a good point, actually,” Sehun chimes in, making most gazes turn to him. “What? I mean, maybe there _is_ someone out there who’s figured out how to use their powers for- evil and stuff. Wouldn’t that make sense? Like, otherwise, what’s the point in having powers?”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but if I could learn to shoot lightning on command, I’d do a few illegal things here and there,” Jongdae admits, his fingers wiggling in the air to demonstrate.

“So if there’s a massive power outage in Korea, one day, I’ll know that it was you?” Yixing questions, frowning over his cup of tea.

Jongdae just winks at him in reply, before he leans over and mock-whispers to Joonmyun, “but you didn’t hear any of this, gramps.” Biting back a smile, Jongin sneaks a glance at Kyungsoo, who doesn’t look as amused. “Hey, no laughing, Jongin. We all know you’d be robbing banks if you could.” 

“What- why me?” Jongin chokes out, his cheeks flushing red-hot.

“Oh please, I don’t buy the innocent act for a second,” Jongdae accuses. “There’s a sociopath in you just waiting to be let out.”

“No there isn’t!” Jongin insists, sending a pleading glance to Yixing. The last thing he wants is for Yixing to think his motives are questionable.

“It’s okay,” Yixing calmly assures. “You don’t seem like a sociopath.”

“I-” Jongin just blinks at him. “Th-thank you.” Horrified, Jongin ducks his head with the realization that Yixing just sort-of complimented him, and that he’s got no idea how to reply.

But Yixing is unphased, setting his empty cup back on the tray with a quiet clink. “I think I should probably leave now." 

“What?” Jongdae whinges. “You can’t stay for a snack? Or the first part of a movie?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Yixing teases, his smile lop-sided. “My job doesn’t let me take long breaks, but thanks for the offer.”

 “I’ll walk you out,” Joonmyun suggests, following Yixing’s lead by standing as well.

“Only if you want to.” Facing the middle of the room, Yixing bows deeply, hair flopping with him. “Thank you all for having me, it was very interesting to meet you,” he says, and Jongin musters up his best smile to give back before Yixing turns around.

“Hey, hit us up the next time you’re in Seoul!” Jongdae calls after them, to which Yixing just gives two thumbs up.

As soon as they’ve stepped out of the room, Jongin collapses onto Kyungsoo’s shoulder, exhausted.

“You did fine,” Kyungsoo assures, only lightly nudging Jongin off of him.

“Are you sure?” Jongin whispers, and Kyungsoo just rolls his eyes in reply, but he doesn’t bother pushing Jongin when he rests on him, again. 

“Alright, let’s see if I remember how to set up this bad boy,” Jongdae announces, loudly clapping his hands together as he settles in front of the TV.

Chanyeol chooses that moment to stand up, and Jongin carefully watches him pad around the couches and disappear into the kitchen without a word. To Jongin’s side, Sehun coughs, darting his gaze back down once Chanyeol’s out of sight.

“Hey, is everything okay with…” Jongin trails off, and Sehun hums, barely sparing him a glance.

“Yeah, I guess,” is all he says.

Jongin doesn’t push it, instead leaning back in his seat. Kyungsoo’s also started to ignore him by pouring himself another tea, and Jongin pouts, nudging him with his elbow.

Before too long, Jongdae’s managed to get the television to light up, and they’ve got an Iron Man buzzing around their screen in high-def.

“Can you see it okay? Jongin asks Kyungsoo, concerned.

“My prescription isn’t even that bad,” Kyungsoo clips, turning back to him with a glare. “And Joonmyun’s TV is ten times bigger than the one back home.”

“I was just checking,” Jongin defends, to which Kyungsoo smirks. “Pass me the popcorn.”

“Get it yourself,” he shoots back.

“You want popcorn?” Jongdae asks, not giving Jongin a chance to answer before he’s pelted him with a fistful. “There you go, man.”

“Thanks,” Jongin grumbles, and Jongdae just cackles, sprawling out on his couch.

“Hey, gramps, hurry up,” he yells out, just as Chanyeol sits back down, silently passing a can of Coke to Sehun. “Woah woah, Chanyeol. Where’s my drink at, man?”

“You should have asked,” Sehun taunts, cracking his open with a coy smile. It’s a good thing Sehun answered for him, because Chanyeol’s eyes have doubled in size, and he looks like he’s about ready to bolt out of the room, again. 

“Dammit, you’re all forming alliances,” Jongdae sighs out as he tosses his sunglasses away. “I’m gonna be stuck with gramps at this rate.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Joonmyun deadpans, stepping past them to take the place between Chanyeol and Sehun.

“Hey, when the supervillains come out, you’ll be begging to partner with me,” Jongdae mocks, a mischievous grin sent Joonmyun’s way.

Accidentally catching Kyungsoo’s eye, Jongin just smiles before shoving a piece of popcorn to his closed lips. Kyungsoo narrows his eyes but bites down, anyway, almost ripping off Jongin’s fingers in the process. While Jongdae announces he’s starting the movie, Jongin relaxes back into his spot, and he spends the first few minutes sneaking little bits of popcorn into Kyungsoo’s hair, which Kyungsoo just ends up eating, anyway.

 

 

➕

 

 

In August, the air in Seoul is more stifling, harder to breathe, the last of the heat and rain weighing heavy on Jongin’s body as soon as he steps into it. Jongin’s tried to convince Kyungsoo to let them stay at home instead of going out to the park everyday, at least until the temperature drops back down a few degrees. But he already knew he had no hope of winning that argument.

The shade of the trees does nothing to help, and now, Jongin’s shifting from side to side, trying to distract himself from the pressure stuffed in his lungs and the restlessness that prickles from his fingers. Normally, Jongin can handle this weather by pestering Kyungsoo until he lets them buy ice cream, but today- today he doesn’t feel like talking. 

There’s only one week left until Jihye, his oldest sister, comes back from Europe, and Jongin had forgotten that until his parents decided to corner him in the kitchen last night. At first he didn’t understand what they were trying to say, but when his mom asked him if Kyungsoo had any plans to go home, it all fell together. Honestly, he should have known this would happen, that Kyungsoo couldn’t just keep living with his family without giving them any real reason, but it’s left him sick to his stomach.

After that, Jongin lay awake for hours, his mind running through every possibility that would mean Kyungsoo could stay. The best thing he could come up with was to see if he could go to Joonmyun’s- but Jongin can’t face that yet- can’t face the thought of letting him go so soon.

At least Kyungsoo seems fine, today. Propped up against the tree trunk, his new glasses perched high on his nose, Kyungsoo stares at the world around them with widened eyes, a faint smile toying at his lips. He’s been like this ever since the first time he stepped outside with his round, thickly-rimmed frames, in total awe at how many leaves he could see, and Jongin wants to keep it that way.

“City trees are so interesting,” Kyungsoo muses, his voice smooth and deep as it blends into the breeze.

Surprised, Jongin blinks up at him, but Kyungsoo’s still looking straight ahead like he never said anything at all. It’s been silent for a while, now, and it’s not like Kyungsoo to just bring up his power like that, so Jongin knows he must want to talk. Besides, he’s been stuck rereading the same page over and over, with none of the words making it through the hissing in his brain.

Setting his volume of _Death Note_ aside, Jongin props himself up on one elbow, turning his body to curl just by Kyungsoo’s legs. “How come?” Jongin asks curiously.

“Time moves faster in the city, and lives are always passing them by,” Kyungsoo replies after a moment. “They see a lot more here.”

“See? Like with eyes?” Jongin teases, but Kyungsoo doesn’t react.

“No, not with eyes,” Kyungsoo corrects. “But they always watch. Trees are nosy like that.”

Humming, Jongin rolls over, now laying on his stomach so he can stare up at the tree above them. It’s trunk shoots straight up, only wide enough for Kyungsoo’s back to rest against, and the shroud of bright green leaves hide most of it’s branches. There’s nothing special that Jongin can see about this tree, but it’s the only one Kyungsoo wants to sit under. “So is he watching us right now?”

“The tree is not a ‘he’, and yes, they are,” Kyungsoo states with a huff.

“How are you, today, Mr. Tree?” Jongin asks, raising his voice and grinning up at the view of Kyungsoo’s mouth gaping.

“Trees don’t have moods, either,” he hisses.

“No, he does,” Jongin insists, pointing. “And he says he’s offended that you said that.”

Kyungsoo slits him a dark glare, but it’s a lot less menacing now that there’s frames separating them. “Really? What else does he say?”

“That your new glasses suit you, and that you should be nicer to me,” Jongin says, biting back a grin.

 “I’m already nice to you.”

“Mr. Tree doesn’t think so,” Jongin states.

“Well, _Mr. Tree_ doesn’t have to deal with your constant complaining and hunger,” Kyungsoo snaps back. 

“Hey!” Jongin whines, pouting in offense. “I’m not that bad!”

“Yes, you are,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin flops down on his hands miserably.

“You’re upsetting Mr. Tree,” he laments.

“No, the tree feels completely neutral, like they always do,” Kyungsoo states, his eyes turning away.

For a moment, Jongin rests on his cheek, letting it be silent. But then he decides that that isn’t any fun.

“You made him cry,” Jongin states.

“Watch it,” Kyungsoo warns, even though Jongin can see the smile pulling at the corner of his lips, as hard as he must be trying to fight it off.

“Okay, okay, so what’s the tree actually saying?” Jongin asks, surrendering.

But Kyungsoo doesn’t answer, his gaze lingering on Jongin the way it always does, deep and unwavering. Jongin can never hold that stare for too long without his heart completely stopping, but it’s almost like there’s something else in Kyungsoo’s eyes today- something new. But Jongin tells himself it must be the light glinting off the lens of his glasses, and he blinks away the illusion, trying to take in a breath past the weight lodged in his throat. His mouth has gone dry, his cheeks searing hotter than the summer heat, but Jongin can’t afford to break gazes, not anymore. Not when-

Swallowing hard, the action burning, Jongin’s just about to try the question again when Kyungsoo speaks. 

“Nothing that I haven't already figured out,” he says, the words quiet and gentle, and Kyungsoo’s the first to turn away.

 

 

 

 

  
_**[➕](https://8tracks.com/kaisoochateau/running-home-4-lost) ** _

 

 

Up here, the sky is an endless stretch of shadow and light, and the horizon glimmers in golds, whites, in bronzes that drip across the jagged towers and cliffs. Jongin watches as the black clouds start to press down, to arch and divide the colors, slowly bringing the city below is to life, a quiet heartbeat now thrumming within the concrete ground.

From where he breathes, the whole world is laid out before him, every ray of sun that slides off of every mirror, every person that stirs awake, the streets and streets that run on for miles.

This is the peace, the calm before the storm- but the storm is nearing.

It starts with a loud screech, the scrape of metal tearing into the smell of burnt rubber, and then the sky starts to tremble, to shift and break down on everyone beneath it, clouds and buildings hurled down to earth. The streets shatter all at once as the city shrieks deafeningly loud, all oxygen stolen from the air.

Jongin’s vision is shaking, thrown and off-balance as he’s forced to look down, to the ground that breaks beneath his feet, now ripped wide open and black. Sickness, the fear of falling, are the last pains that wash through Jongin’s veins before he’s pulled through-

Jongin bolts up, wide awake and heaving, his whole body filled with piercing cries and crackling thunder. But this- the way everything’s rumbling, glass breaking, his whole body chattering- this isn’t a nightmare, anymore.

Half-blinded and breathless, Jongin dives out of bed and onto unstable ground, needing to grapple at air- at whatever his hands can find in the dark so he can stop himself from getting barreled over by the force of the tremors.

Shoving his door open, the screams only get louder in the hallway, and Jongin’s head is being split in two by his mother and sister, both panicking and yelling over each other- but every fibre of Jongin’s being cries for Kyungsoo.

He all but collapses into his room, trying to rasp out Kyungsoo’s name over the avalanche of noises, past the terror lodged in his throat. But Jongin can’t hear anything back, can’t make out a single shape in the pitch-black they’re drowning in. Stumbling up to the bed, Jongin reaches both arms out, a hard lurch flinging him forward until he lands on what must be him.

“Hey- Kyung-,” Jongin gasps for air, words blocked by his empty lungs as he desperately fists at the sheets.

Suddenly, his trembling hands are caught, wrists pierced with a death-like grip, and the room falls quiet. With the rattling stopped, there’s nothing left but a ringing silence, and Jongin’s panting too loudly against it, his ears throbbing and stinging from the darkness pressing down on them.

Their door is flung open, yellow lights crawling across the floor and Jongin has to squint at the figure illuminated in the hallway.

“Are you two okay?” Jongin’s mother begs to know, and Jongin can only push himself off of Kyungsoo using his leaden arms.

“Mom, we’re fine,” he says weakly, trying to sit his body up on the edge of the bed.

“Shouldn’t we be evacuating the house?” Jungah calls out from down the corridor, her voice shrill and breathless.

“No, sweetie, we have to stay inside,” his mom insists and she shuts the door with one last worried look at the two of them. The rest of her words echo dully from across the wall, calm assurances that everything’s over, now, that there’s nothing to worry about.

His chest still splintered and burning, breaths garbled and rushed, Jongin blinks away the light left stuck to the back of his eyelids. It’s still impossible to see in the darkness, the whole room eerily quiet, and there’s only the gentle press of a body against Jongin’s back to convince him that Kyungsoo’s there.

“Kyungsoo,” he whispers, hesitating before he pats his palm across the soft sheet, until he reaches the edge and curls his fingers into the fabric. He can barely feel the quickened rise and fall of Kyungsoo’s chest, and Jongin takes in a long breath, down to the bottom of his lungs. “What… what happened?” he murmurs.

But only silence follows, it’s emptiness stretched across the room, and the weight of it slowly starts to feel lighter as Jongin’s heartbeat evens out, as the clouds in Jongin’s head blur more heavily.

There’s no difference between having his eyes open or closed, with only black and spotted lights dancing around, and in the peace, Jongin can start to think that maybe it was all a dream. Slowly, he lets himself be pulled down by the temptation of sleep, his back dully aching from the way he sits, but the blanket of darkness is already draped over him.

“I have to go home.”

At first, the words are muffled, underwater, and Jongin thinks he might have imagined them somewhere in between the layers of fog. With the fingers that brush against his hand, Jongin starts to pretend that he did, breath hitching as he tries to force his way into sleep.

“Jongin.”

A blinding light turns on with a click, and Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, the sight burnt bright red. He can feel the sheets rustle around him as Kyungsoo moves, sitting up beside him, but Jongin’s got both hands clutched to his stinging face, praying to anything that he’ll wake up soon.

“I…” Over the blood pounding through Jongin’s skull, he can just hear the waiver in Kyungsoo’s voice, the soft clearing of Kyungsoo’s voice. “I can’t stay here any longer.”

Jongin is dead silent, acid throbbing thickly through him, from his chest down to his fingers as he fails to force this away.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo murmurs a moment later. “But I can’t-”

“Why?” is the only word that Jongin rasps out, his throat raw and cracked.

“It’s the trees at home,” Kyungsoo says, as if that could make any sense in the shards of Jongin’s mind. “I’ve been away from them for too long, and I had a nightmare about them, not- not growing, not mending, and then I woke up and your family…” Kyungsoo sighs, the sound pained, and it only makes Jongin curl in on himself more. “It’s my fault for staying, and I have to go back and fix it. They... they need me.”

 _Jongin_  needs him, but there’s no way he could say that. All he can do is pace his breaths, blinking away the fire and the water that sting at his eyes, his heart strung so tight it could snap any second.

“Jongin?” Kyungsoo asks, shifting closer to him, pressing harder into Jongin’s back.

He must be making an idiot of himself, but Jongin’s hurting too much to care about what Kyungsoo must be thinking of him, what he must be able to guess now-

“But… what about-” Jongin stammers, choking back a cough, his hands still hiding his eyes. “You said you wanted to stay,” he says, the words weak.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo repeats, softer, and Jongin bites down on his lip to stop the emotion threatening to break out of him. “I can’t stay if I’m putting people in danger.”

“You said- you said you wanted to find out more- about-” Right now, Jongin barely knows what he’s saying, only that he’ll do anything to get Kyungsoo to stay, that maybe there’s the smallest doubt that he can latch onto. “- About your powers.”

“Yes, I did,” Kyungsoo admits. “But we’ve met five people, out of the millions that don’t have powers. We’ve been lucky, and we’ve still learnt nothing, and I’m still- causing earthquakes…” He takes in a deep breath, and Jongin holds his until Kyungsoo lets it out. “It won’t matter how many more we find,” Kyungsoo says, tone empty. “No one will have the answers we want.”

Hanging his head lower, his neck aching and his chest twisted in knots, Jongin can barely form a thought, can’t understand any of Kyungsoo’s reasons and only hears the hollow certainty in his voice. “You could still stay,” Jongin tries, desperation hitching his words.

“No, I can’t,” Kyungsoo murmurs. “The earthquakes will only get worse.”

Jongin shakes his head the smallest amount, his vision swimming. “But...  _why_?” he begs, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Because it’s time for me to leave,” Kyungsoo murmurs, pausing before he takes in a deep breath. “Because the trees are asking for me, so I have to go back,” he says, more determined, more like his normal self, and it’s like a harsh stab at Jongin’s stomach.

There’s nothing left for him to say, nothing he could force past the strangling of his throat even if he had the fight left in him. Jongin feels sick with selfishness, with defeat, but worse than that- with heartbreak, a pain that echoes deep to the centre of his chest. All Jongin can do is drive the knife in further, to test how much this can hurt.

“When do you want to leave?” Jongin asks, forcing his words to stay steady.

“Today, as soon as possible,” Kyungsoo answers, and Jongin grits his trembling teeth together, closes his blurry eyes. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

The bed dipping against him, Kyungsoo barely brushes past Jongin’s hunched back as he stands up, light steps soon hurrying along the wooden floor. Slowly, Jongin forces himself to look up, his whole body protesting against the strain.

In the dim yellow lighting, Kyungsoo’s bare back is still cast in shadow as he pulls a black T-shirt over his head- the same shirt he came with. For once, he isn’t wearing something that hangs too low over his elbows and hips, that’s too loose around the chest, and Jongin casts his eyes away. There’s only the quiet rustle of fabric, the loud panging against Jongin’s ribcage, and Jongin sits there in silence, as if the whole world hasn’t crumbled down on him just after it was starting to mend itself.

“I’ll be back soon,” Kyungsoo rushes out. His neck creaking, Jongin’s looks up to find Kyungsoo staring straight at him from across the room, a hand already on the doorknob. Behind the shine reflected off his glasses, Jongin can barely see his eyes, but he sees Kyungsoo’s mouth fall for a second, before he clenches his jaw shut. “I- have to say goodbye.”

Jongin knows he must mean to the park, and he takes in a soft breath, words barely held together. “I’ll- I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Kyungsoo insists, shaking his head the smallest amount. “It’s too early, you need to sleep more.”

Heart twisting so hard that Jongin flinches, he breaks gazes. After this, he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get to sleep again, but he says nothing.

Without another word, the door is swung open, quietly clicking shut as Kyungsoo’s footsteps pad along the hallway, as Jongin bites down too hard on his lip. When the noises fade, drowned out by a shrill ringing that pierces Jongin’s skull, he can’t stop himself from gasping in a breath. But his lungs are too choked with water for him to fill, and he splutters, coughs, his mouth filled with acid as his hands come up to wring at the roots of his hair.

Keeling over, Jongin buries his head in the pillow and the painful scent of rose as he curls up on himself. His body is wracked with dry sobs, his eyes screwed shut, his chest screaming like it’s being shredded from the inside.

This hurts more than all the other rejections, even after the lowest point of Jongin’s life, and Jongin lets the the worthlessness beat down on him. Another part of him lost- another love he wasn’t fucking good enough to keep, no matter how hard he tried. The thoughts cut at his mind, his vision bleeding red as Jongin punches his fist into the pillow over and over. But it’s not hard enough to feel anything except the tension in his arm, locking up his body, and Jongin can’t stand it.

His breaths hard and scattered, tears hot as he blinks and they start to run down his cheeks, all Jongin wants is to disappear under the covers. But the lamp is still on, pounding at his brain, and he hauls himself up, shaking as he leans onto his elbows and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

His desk is a wreck, pens and clutter spilled across the white wood, and Jongin reaches over, flipping his clock face-side up. The green lines read 4.33AM, and he sucks in a breath, his chest twisting tighter with the knowledge that Kyungsoo’s out in the dark, alone. But there’s no point following after him, not when Kyungsoo won’t want him there.

The glass has been knocked-over, water already leaked across the few loose papers and old notebooks that Jongin can’t bring himself to care about. He almost sets it back upright, arm extended in mid-air before he stills.

The few belongings Kyungsoo kept on his desk- his sketchpad, his case of drawing tools- are all gone, and Jongin’s stomach turns inside out. From where he is, Kyungsoo’s bag, that normally sits in the corner of the room, is hidden from view, and Jongin can’t force himself up to check if his things are already packed away- can’t let himself think of what it means if they are.

With a harsh shudder, Jongin hangs his head, clicks the light off, and lets the darkness swallow him whole.

 


	7. Acte II - 6. Peine de coeur: Adagio

  

 

 

➕

 

 

Life without Kyungsoo drags and aches.

Some days seem never-ending, the seconds crawling by like insects under Jongin’s skin as he stares out at nothing.

On other days, Jongin can’t get a grip on time, and he wakes in jolts and panics, breathless as he waits to be plunged back into another nightmare of broken cities. In the moments he’s left awake, Jongin’s keeps the door locked, the curtains drawn shut, his laptop the only light allowed in the room while he tries to forget himself in a restless stream of shows. The cycle is broken up by family dinners, where Jongin can only swallow down half his food and skid around the same clawing questions, yearning to hide back in his own head.

It’s like every fibre in Jongin has been set alight, his head pounding and his body shaking from deep in his core and down every nerve. After the last month of peace that Kyungsoo had brought, Jongin had gotten too used to feeling normal. But now, the horrible sickness has started again, bleeding from the bones in his body and seeping through to the muscles. Staying trapped in his room, where the air is too heavy to push into his lungs, doesn’t help, but Jongin has no choice.

The day after Kyungsoo left, Seoul was hit by the worst storms of the season. Outside, the whole world has turned grey, the rain pouring down endlessly, and Jongin could almost laugh at the irony, as if the sky was mourning with him.

He only forces himself to leave the house at Sehun’s insistence, when there’s another meet-up at Joonmyun’s house on the Sunday. But it barely masks the ache in his chest, and Jongin doesn’t know what’s worse- Jongdae teasing him about how depressed he looks now that his ‘mother’ is gone, or the pitying smiles that Joonmyun offers him from across the room. Right now, Jongin doesn’t have the energy to sit through more action movies, or more pointless conversations about nothing, and when he leaves that evening, there’s no promise of coming back.

Maybe Kyungsoo was right, Jongin thinks on the walk back to the bus stop, alone with the rain spitting down and his umbrella forgotten at home. Maybe the whole powers thing was a waste of time. Maybe there was no point in Kyungsoo staying. Maybe he is better off at home- with his family, his plants, with his normal life, away from the white noise of the city.

Maybe all of it's true, but the hollowness Kyungsoo left behind still hurts just as much.

 

 

 

➕

 

 

By the time Jongin steps up to Taemin’s front porch, his shirt’s already been drenched through with sweat and water, his hair’s a mess falling over his sore eyes, and to top it all off, he’s been going through another bad round of acne that he didn’t have the energy to cover up. So Jongin shouldn’t be surprised when Taemin swings the front door open, takes one look at him, and the first words he blurts out are, ‘You look like horse shit.’

But it still has Jongin’s chest curling up in anger.

“So?” he grits out, and Taemin just replies with a roll of his eyes, opening the door wider for him.

“Sehun’s already drunk half the apple ciders,” Taemin carries on. “And you ain’t allowed to blame me, man, ‘cause it’s your fault for taking so long.”

“I don’t want to drink, anyway,” Jongin grumbles, giving a stiff nod towards the couch Sehun’s draped over. He gets a mumbled greeting back, as Sehun’s sways his lanky arms in the air.

“Y’know, I should have taken more advantage of that time when you _didn’t_ have a stick shoved up your ass,” Taemin taunts, throwing a teasing smirk back at Jongin.

“Well, sorry,” he bites out. Honestly, Jongin’s already forgotten why he thought this would be a good idea.

“Tae, leave Jongin alone,” Sehun slurs, his words tumbling over each other as he tries to sit up. “He’s just- mff- sad because Kyungsoo left.”

“Yeah, I already got that,” Taemin states, whacking Sehun over the head. “The poor lil’ bitch.”

Silently, Jongin takes a seat on the other couch, hunching in on himself.

“You sure about that drink?” Taemin checks, and Jongin slowly nods. His stomach already feels like it’s being ripped to shreds, his thoughts murky and hissing, and the thought of adding alcohol to that only makes him want to retch.

“Aight, suit yourself,” Taemin shrugs out. “But I’m gonna need a shitton of gin to get through tonight, and _no_ , Hunnie. You ain’t touching anything over two percent.” Stalking past them to the kitchen, Taemin whirls back to point at Sehun accusingly. “Look after Jongin for a sec, okay? Make sure he doesn’t drown in his own tears or some shit like that.”

“Will do,” Sehun assures, and Jongin just huffs out a breath, his lungs prickling with flames. Raking a rough hand through his hair, Jongin can hear cupboards creak and glasses clink, the rain outside a distant murmur, and he’s got enough of a headache before Sehun decides to talk, too. “Hey, you okay, man?”

Jongin takes a moment to breathe in, the sigh catching in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. It’s a stupid question, but Sehun’s drunk, anyway, so it’s not like he’ll remember the answer.

“I miss Kyungsoo too,” Sehun sighs out, and Jongin only buries his head further in his hands. “He was cool, ‘n’ funny... Scary too, but not, like, a mean scary, ‘n’ his advice was way better in person. He types way too slow ‘n’, like, I don’t wanna call-”

“Wait, you’re texting him?” Jongin asks, suddenly snapping up. But Sehun doesn’t reply, his eyes closed and his face smushed into the armrest. “Sehun? Sehun, wake up,” Jongin pleads, the volume making Sehun stir and rub at his cheek.

“Mm, yeah,” Sehun yawns out, and Jongin’s barely able to hear what he’s saying over the pounding in his ears. “We text. When I need help with Chanyeol ‘n’ stuff.”

“Okay, is anyone gonna tell me who the fuck this Chanyeol dude is?” Taemin cuts in from across the room. “Or explain why Sehun won’t shut up about him tonight?” As he makes his way over to sit by Jongin, a tall, fizzy drink in hand, Sehun grumbles something back at him, but Jongin can’t pay any attention to either of them when his mind’s reeling.

It’s been four days since he heard anything from Kyungsoo. When he left, Jongin knew that it’d be hard to keep in contact, that Kyungsoo didn’t like texting and it would take ages before he’d get any reply. But what Jongin didn’t expect was how little he’d even be able to say to Kyungsoo. Apart from asking if he got home safely and talking about his crops, Jongin’s too worried, too eaten up by guilt to start a real conversation. And that terrifies him- how long this silence will drag on before Jongin tries to break it, or worse, if he _can’t_.

One day, they might be nothing but strangers, and Jongin doesn’t know how he could bear to live with that.

“Hey-” Taemin interrupts, a hand waved in front of Jongin’s face and breaking him out of the torrent. “You’ve met Chanyeol, right?” he demands, and Jongin blindly nods. “Is he actually that bangin’?”

“He’s average,” Jongin states, too weighed down to bother elaborating.

“See, I knew it!” Taemin says in triumph, as Sehun lazily swats a hand at him. “You’ve got terrible taste in dudes, Hunnie- just look at Jongin!”

“Hey,” Jongin snaps.

“Oh, c’mon, man. Sure, you look pretty, but your mood swings- fuck _me_ , they are something else,” Taemin complains, sipping at his drink while Jongin glares at him.

“At least I talk. Chanyeol’s still giving us the silent treatment,” Jongin bites back, his stomach churning with acid.

“No, just when you’re there,” Sehun drones out as he shifts around the couch. “Chanyeol talks to me all the time, ‘n’ he’s nice, ‘n’ cute, ‘n’ he plays _Portal 2_ with me ‘cause I suck at _Mario Kart_ -”

“Okay, Hunnie,” Taemin cuts in. “You’re hot for fire guy, we get it. Anything else new in the world of super humans, huh? Nini?”

“Do you think it’s because of his powers?” Sehun asks, face scrunched up in confusion. “Like, did they morph him into this perfect god with-”

“ _Ew_ , stop right there, you fucking pervert,” Taemin snaps, before he fake-gags. “I don’t wanna hear about his flame-throwing, glow-in-the-dark dick, thanks.” Despite himself, Jongin lets out a quiet snort. “Aw, finally, you smiled!”

“Shut up,” Jongin complains, ignoring the finger Taemin’s poking at his waist.

“Let’s keep ‘em coming, huh?” Taemin teases, and he leans over to swipe a DVD off the side table. “I rented out _Speed Scandal_ for you, figured you’d need a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jongin says, sighing with a shrug.

It’s not like he cares what they do, and it’s been a few years since he last saw the movie. But Sehun’s whingeing in the background about not wanting to watch TV as Taemin ignores him and sets it up, anyway. Sehun doesn’t end up up minding, since he’s fast asleep by the second scene, quietly snoring while Taemin snickers about it to Jongin.

With a cushion hugged to his chest, Jongin sinks back into the old couch as Taemin cackles through the movie. He somehow convinces Jongin to have one sip of his foul drink, but Jongin spends the rest of the movie with a glass of water resting on his cheek, occasionally laughing along, too.

Taemin keeps him entertained with his stupid commentary, and sometimes he’ll start rambling about something completely irrelevant, like a weird client at the bar or a hook-up gone wrong, and Jongin will lose his place in the plot. But by the time the end credits are rolling, he feels a bit lighter.

“Should we wake Sehun up, now?” Jongin asks as he rubs at his eyes. Sehun hasn’t budged in the past hour, but he looks happily curled up.

“Nah, leave him, I’ll kick him off in a sec.” With a long groan, Taemin stretches forward and clicks off the TV while Jongin checks the time on his phone. 9:19PM, and still too early to go to bed. He has no notifications, either, but he tries to ignore how his chest tightens.

“Hey, come out for a smoke with me,” Taemin says, already jumping out of his seat before Jongin has a chance to reply.

Reluctantly, he drags himself up, slowly following as Taemin sways through the laundry and onto the back deck.

The air is just as stuffy as before, already clinging to Jongin’s skin the moment he steps outside, but at least the rain has died down to a gentle trickle. Sighing, Jongin settles his elbows on the damp wooden railing, kept dry by the shelter of the porch. The yellow lights above them buzz with insects and offer a bleak view of Taemin’s backyard, of the outgrown grass and the scattered gardening tools.

“You want one?” Taemin asks, and Jongin looks over to see him pull a pack out of his jean pocket.

“No thanks,” Jongin states, as Taemin pops out a cigarette and sticks it between his teeth. “I thought you quit.”

“I have quit,” Taemin states, lighting a flame to the end. “I just smoke when I’m buzzed.”

Jongin thinks that still counts, but he doesn’t say anything. Huffing out a stream of grey smoke, Taemin leans next to him, the porch creaking beneath them.

“How you holding up, man?” he asks.

_Shit_ is the best answer, but Jongin swallows that bitter taste down. There’s no point lying, since Jongin’s already sure that Taemin will call him out on it, so he settles for, “Not great.”

“I figured that,” Taemin says, taking another drag. “Fucking sucks, huh?” There’s a sarcastic tilt to his tone, instead of an ‘I told you so’, and Jongin’s at least grateful for that.

The silence between them sits heavy in Jongin’s lungs, only made worse by the humidity and the storm-cloaked sky that stares down at him. He knows better than to expect any advice or sympathy from Taemin, but just this time, Taemin should know how he feels. That’s what Jongin needs right now- for him to get it, and his next words are breathed out more desperate than he wanted.

“Did you miss her?” Jongin begs to know, before clearing his raw throat. “Soojung- I mean, when she left.”

Taemin doesn’t answer straight away, instead blowing a ring of smoke out into the air. His cigarette is crushed tight between his fingers, and he doesn’t meet Jongin’s gaze. “We’d already broken up by then,” he states, words empty.

“But did you miss her?” Jongin tries again, watching as Taemin lowers his head, blonde hair covering his eyes.

“Of course I did,” he says simply, quietly.

“Then how’d you deal with it?” Jongin murmurs, more gentle this time, and Taemin just snorts.

“I started smoking.” His laugh is loud and hollow, the sound jabbing at Jongin’s head. “Fuck, man, I try _not_ to think about that depressing shit. But for real, though, you need a hobby. Something to keep you busy.”

“Well I’m not gonna start smoking,” Jongin deadpans.

“Don’t. That shit’s expensive.” With a cough, Taemin turns around, leaning over to scrutinize him with bleary eyes. “But I bet you’d be awesome at hip hop.”

“No- no, not dancing-” Jongin grits out, clenching his jaw as he turns away. He can’t even think about that without wanting to rip his hair out or scream his lungs hoarse, and Jongin forces in a breath, trying to contain the jagged edges of panic. “Any other ideas?”

“Y’know, it’s not like Kyungsoo’s in fucking Paris or something,” Taemin points out suddenly. “You could go and visit him, man.”

“But-” Jongin closes his eyes and swallows, hands curling into tight fists. That’s one hopeless thought he hasn’t let himself listen to. “No, I wouldn’t want to bother him.”

“Dude, as if you’d be _bothering_ him, Jesus.” Stabbing his cigarette out on the wood, Taemin flicks the crumpled butt into the yard before he rounds in on Jongin. “Listen up, he was obviously into you, alright? The way he was all over you that night was fucking _disgusting_ , you made me wanna hurl.”

Jongin can’t do anything except shake his head, his skull pounding. “He was just drunk,” he rasps out.

“Yeah, and people are honest when they’re drunk. Y’know, Kyungsoo ain’t as closed off as I thought. Even sober, the way he looked at you was all ‘goo goo ga ga’ and shit.” Taemin snorts, resting back on the railing. “Who knows what the fuck he saw in you, huh?”

His fingers quietly trembling, Jongin has to blink the sting from his eyes. “He didn’t-”

“Man, you’re really gonna doubt me here?” Taemin snaps back. “I spend half my free time picking up girls, and you think I can’t tell when someone’s got a thing for you? _Shit_ , have some more faith.”

“But then he wouldn’t have left,” Jongin rasps out, digging his nails into his scalp. “He planned it- I don’t know how long- but he wanted to leave and the earthquake just-”

“Oi, cool it, man,” Taemin cuts in with a punch to Jongin’s ribs. The impact is weak, barely adding to the panging of his chest. “I’m sure Kyungsoo has his own shit, okay? Probably ain’t got nothing to do with you.”

“I miss him,” is all Jongin can whisper out, and Taemin groans.

“I know you do, dickhead. That’s why I’m telling you to go fucking visit him,” Taemin insists, before he softens his tone. “You’ll have a good time, promise.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what he’s meant to think. Every part of him is begging to listen to Taemin, aching to see Kyungsoo again, even just for a few moments. But how could it be that easy-

“What are you doing tomorrow, man?” Taemin says, and Jongin’s heart lurches.

“That’s way too soon,” Jongin breathes out, but Taemin just sighs.

“I meant so us two can hang out. Let’s fucking _go_ somewhere!” Now it’s Jongin’s turn to sigh, having caught onto what Taemin’s suggesting, and it’s the last thing he wants to do right now. “C’mon, it’s been ages, man, I’m craving some more French girls,” Taemin jokes, leering at Jongin suggestively, who only grimaces back.

“I don’t feel like you getting us lost in the middle of nowhere, again,” he mumbles out.

“Getting lost is the whole point! It’s called ‘adventure’, you lil’ bitch!” Taemin mocks.

“No thanks,” Jongin says, quiet but firm.

“Aw man, see, this shit’s why you’re always so down,” Taemin accuses, and Jongin lets out a choked scoff. “You gotta make the most out of stuff, like how you can fucking teleport us anywhere in the world! We could be sipping fucking mojitos, skinny dipping in Hawaii-”

But Jongin just shakes his head, lips quirking as he ignores Taemin and instead stares up at the night sky, at the grey streaks of storm clouds mixed in with the pitch black, so thick that no stars can peek through.

Jongin doesn’t need to say it out loud, but he knows that he’s right on this one, and that just this time, Taemin’s felt exactly the same way. Because the thought of loud colors and new faces only drives the knife in Jongin’s chest deeper, and it’s like how Taemin turned down the best scholarship he was ever going to get, even after they all told him he’d regret it. Jongin spent so long being angry about that, following Taemin only out of a bitter jealousy-

But now, now he finally gets why Taemin did it, why he was so scared of losing Soojung, when sometimes, any place in the world can still feel like nothing without that one person.

 

 

 

➕

 

 

The distance between Seoul and Kyungsoo feels a lot larger when Jongin’s actually travelling it, rather than just measuring out the centimetres on a map. To get to Kyungsoo’s village, the first step is to take a train from Seoul station down to Jeongeup, which is already a two hour trip. From there, Jongin has to take a bus to the Gochang bus terminal for another hour and a half, and then swap buses onto one that’ll take him the last of the way to the small rural town of Mujang.

Jongin’s already breathless as the first train starts to rattle and move, crammed into the window seat next to a young couple. The 6:40AM departure broke Jongin out of a restless night, but even though the sun’s only beginning to rise, the carriage is still packed-out, and the chatter that breaks past Jongin’s music has him too on edge to even think about sleeping. Curled up against the glass, his teeth gritted and heart thrashing painfully against his ribs, Jongin can’t do anything but breathe through the shards of his throat and wait out the journey.

The view is barely comforting, as Jongin watches the distant groups of skyscrapers thin out when they race out of the concrete city. Pillars of grey are still nestled in amongst the green of the countryside, towering above the grassy fields and the smoke-shrouded mountains, and Jongin wonders how Kyungsoo felt when he passed this by, just two weeks ago.

Jongin knows he should text Kyungsoo, to let him know that he’s on his way. The night before, when they quickly spoke, Kyungsoo had actually used an exclamation mark when he said what time he’d pick Jongin up. It’s the only excitement Kyungsoo’s shown since Jongin suggested he visit for a day, and it had almost convinced Jongin this could end up alright.

But now, just the thought of getting out his phone has Jongin’s fingers tensing up, the grip on his shirt wrung tighter, and there’s nothing he can think to pull himself out of this aching rigidness. The words in his head aren’t coming together properly, and even the most basic text message seems impossible to get right, as if Jongin has forgotten how to talk to Kyungsoo after a few days apart.

So when Jongin steps off the boiling hot bus at Gochang terminal, and has to watch the doors of his next ride snap shut straight behind him, he still doesn’t message him. Instead, he spends the extra twenty minutes frantically pacing and scuffing his sneakers along the grey pavement, cursing himself for not acting faster.

He knows it’s pathetic, and that feeling claws at his whole body, but he still can’t bring himself to touch his phone, and now, he has no idea how he’ll apologize for being late when he sees him. Jongin has no idea how he’s going to talk to Kyungsoo _at all_ , and the last thing he wants it for this to be a huge waste of Kyungsoo’s time. These are the thoughts that tear Jongin up as he finally boards the next bus, every worry deafeningly loud as they try to out-yell each other. The next half hour races past, Jongin’s heart pounding with the milliseconds as he stares out at the endless green fields and warehouses, at the locals walking past on the thin tar road, each far-off face making his chest illogically lurch.

As if his insides weren’t enough of a mess, Jongin’s skin feels disgusting, too. The windows have been pushed open to let through the harsh rays of scorching sun, and Jongin’s sweat is soaking through the back of his white shirt, his cheeks burning red from the heat, and the worry of his acne has him in another panic. Nails digging into his sides, Jongin tries to work out the first words to say, repeating the same useless apology over and over amongst the chaos in his head.

With a sudden lurch, the bus finally pulls off the winding road and into the main street of the town, and Jongin knows he must be so late. As the bus slows to a stop, his vision is spotting, and Jongin stands up on weak legs, forcing himself to make his way to the front and clutching at each headrest for balance. Every part of him is shaking as he takes the few steps off the bus, the pavement swimming below him and his lungs threatening to burst.

“Jongin.”

But when Jongin looks up, it all falls quiet. Standing right in front of him is Kyungsoo, calmly waiting with a bright smile on his face, his eyes crinkled up behind his glasses, and Jongin’s washed over by a huge wave of relief.

“Your hair’s shorter,” he blurts out, making Kyungsoo’s mouth instantly pull into a grimace.

“Yes, my mom ruined it,” he states, and Jongin bursts into a laugh, breathing in the first air he’s had all day.

“It looks fine,” he assures as he takes the last step off the bus and towards Kyungsoo. He’s being honest when he says that he likes Kyungsoo’s new choppy fringe, and the way it stops above his thick eyebrows. It almost makes him look cuter, but Jongin’s knows he’s just biased, because he finds everything about Kyungsoo endearing right now, from his striped navy T-shirt that’s too long in the sleeves, to how Kyungsoo has to peer up when Jongin stands beside him.

“How was the trip?” Kyungsoo asks, turning to lead them, and it’s so easy for Jongin to fall into step with him.

“Long. And tiring,” he jokes, before stretching his sore arms above his head. “But it wasn’t bad.”

“Did you eat yet?” Kyungsoo checks, and Jongin almost snorts at how insistent he sounds.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hungry,” he assures, smiling down at him even though Kyungsoo can’t see.

It wouldn’t matter if he was, because Jongin doesn’t want to waste any time together. He’s already itching to explore this city, to see the places Kyungsoo grew up with and to hear his stories.

Besides a few trips south in elementary school, Jongin’s spent most of his life in the bustle of Seoul, so the view of this countryside village is new to him, and he takes it all in. Along this busier stretch of road, cars and trucks are puttering past, the shops opened out onto the street with signs covering the length of every wall. It’s just like back home, except that the building’s look decades older, and none of them are more than three-storeys. The tallest things around are the dark mountain ranges that border this valley, and Jongin can see them peeking through the gaps on the other side of the street.

But the main difference Jongin notices, that has him soaking up the clearer air and the brighter sun, is the people here. The two of them have barely managed to walk for a minute before an elderly man comes up to greet Kyungsoo, Jongin bowing with him as Kyungsoo quickly introduces him as a friend from Seoul. It seems like everyone is more friendly here, with restaurant keepers chatting as they serve out bowls of noodles and young kids running around the dirty sidewalk, yelling and grinning as they pass them by. They’re stopped again a few seconds later, this time by a pair of cooing old ladies, and Jongin has to fight off his own urge to gush over how sweetly Kyungsoo talks to them.

“Someone’s popular,” Jongin teases when they finally manage to extract themselves.

“This town is small, so everyone knows each other,” Kyungsoo states, still rubbing at his red, pinched cheeks. “But they’re also regulars at our stall.”

“So, do I get to see your famous stall?” Jongin asks as he peers over at Kyungsoo’s face.

“No. My parents are minding it today, and you don’t need to meet them,” Kyungsoo deadpans.

“But- you talked about the markets all the time!” Jongin insists, though the argument seems useless based on Kyungsoo’s frown.

“I only work there against my will,” he defends. “And the weekends are normally my responsibility, so this is a rare chance for me to enjoy myself.”

“So what are we going to do?” Jongin asks, slightly flattered but still confused.

Kyungsoo doesn’t have to answer, instead stepping over to a metal bike rack that’s propped up against the pavement. Wordlessly, he pulls out a clean, white bicycle, and motions at Jongin expectantly.

“Did you rent this bike?” Jongin wonders, tentatively grasping the black handlebars of the one next to Kyungsoo’s.

“You have my brother’s,” Kyungsoo explains as he settles onto his seat. “He left it with us when he moved.”

“Wait- then how did you get both of them here?” Jongin asks, looking up from trying to work out the gears to see Kyungsoo already cruising down the street.

“With patience,” Kyungsoo calls back, his feel calmly pedalling. “Are you coming?”

Jongin has to scramble to chuck his backpack in the front basket, almost getting caught as he swings a leg over and rushes to catch up to Kyungsoo’s head-start. He can’t even remember the last time he had to ride a bike, and his breathing is already louder than it should be, but at least Kyungsoo’s not going very fast, and Jongin manages to keep up with a small distance between them.

There’s only one more street of tightly-packed buildings for Kyungsoo to lead them down, more people waving as he passes by, and now, Jongin can see that this village isn’t big at all. The next turn has them riding by the side of another highway, shops replaced by paddocks of grass on either side of them, and from there, they’re skidding onto a yellow, dirt path.

Kyungsoo briefly checks back over his shoulder, and Jongin beams at him, throwing a thumbs-up. This is the happiest he’s felt in ages, with the wind brushing his face and nothing but farmland surrounding them, and Jongin can’t keep the smile off his face, even after Kyungsoo’s turned back around. There’s no one along this flat trail, and Jongin just soars, following Kyungsoo past countless fields, some full of water to reflect the blue sky, some tall with bright green shoots, the mountains looming off in the distance.

Jongin has no idea how much time has passed before they’re cutting across to a thinner path, right along the side of a shrouded forest where the low-hanging leaves are just out of reach. Up ahead of them, in the corner of this giant expanse of land, Jongin can see the small speck of a white house, and he cheers in victory.

As they draw closer, Jongin copies Kyungsoo by pulling back on the pedals, slowing down until they come to a gentle stop, side-by-side at the front of Kyungsoo’s home. The sweat sticks heavy to Jongin’s skin without the breeze to cool it off, and he has to wipe his forehead dry as Kyungsoo sits his bike up against the edge of the porch.

“You could have- warned me about how far we were going,” Jongin says between pants. But his smile is still wide, and Kyungsoo fixes him with a stern look.

“I assumed you’d work it out,” he clips, grabbing the handlebars off him as Jongin slides off, taking his backpack with him.

Now that they’re back on solid ground, his legs have turned to jelly, and Jongin hobbles up onto the slab of wood, leaning against the front of the house for support. He’s in the middle of undoing his shoelace when he turns back to see that Kyungsoo hasn’t budged, and he’s blankly staring up at him.

“Aren’t we going inside?” Jongin asks with a frown.

“Not yet. The trees want to see you, again,” Kyungsoo states.

“You mean…” Seeing Kyungsoo look to his side, Jongin has to hold in a whine. The thought of the long walk and the boiling heat sounds like pure torture, but there’s no point in trying to argue.

So Jongin just sighs, flops off the porch, and pushes himself to match Kyungsoo’s quick pace, following the thin scar down the trail.

“How have you been?” Kyungsoo asks after a moment, his words softly parting the silence.

“Uh- good, I guess,” Jongin answers, the lie twisting his heart less than it usually would. “Not much has been happening… What about you?”

“Busy,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin almost laughs at the drained look on his face. “There’s been a lot to do.”

The last time he was here, in a memory that feels like years ago, Jongin remembers that all the cabbages were fully grown. But now, there’s rows upon rows of small leaf tufts in their place, spaced out amongst the brown soil. Kyungsoo probably helped out with planting the new seeds, and their property stretches to halfway across this open land, far enough that Jongin feels exhausted by just the thought of walking it, so he can only imagine how long it would have taken.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jongin says, gesturing to the fields around them.

“How is everyone else?” Kyungsoo asks next, and Jongin has to struggle to think back to last Sunday, the memories blurred into the dark murkiness of the past two weeks.

“The same, mostly,” Jongin settles for, and with a twinge in his chest, he admits, “They- they said they miss you.” Nervously, he checks for any sort of reaction, but Kyungsoo’s eyes are fixed straight ahead.

“I see,” he finally states.

The next words are rising up Jongin’s throat, selfish thoughts that he tries to swallow down, to grit his teeth hard enough to stop them. But Jongin desperately wants Kyungsoo to know, even if it’s just a small part, and he can already feel the fire in his body rushing to his cheeks, so hot that the rest of him barely burns. “It’s been pretty boring without you,” he says quietly.

The silence is heavy enough to drown in, and regret sinks to the bottom of Jongin’s stomach. Now, he can’t bear to look at Kyungsoo, his brain racing to find new words to hide behind, until Kyungsoo draws in a quiet breath.

“If I’m being honest, farm life isn’t as exciting as it used to be,” he states, his voice giving away no emotion.

“What- what do you mean?” Jongin prompts, but Kyungsoo doesn’t elaborate. After a moment, he tries again, carefully treading around the topic. “Are there- uh- things about Seoul that you miss?”

“They don’t stock _Hershey’s Cones_ in the convenience stores,” Kyungsoo blurts out, and Jongin barely manages to stop himself from laughing. “And the internet at our house takes too long to load, and the cinema here only shows two different movies per month.”

“City life has made you so greedy,” Jongin jokes, completely amazed to hear Kyungsoo actually whining about something for once.

“I know. I’m disgusted by myself,” Kyungsoo says with a scowl.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Jongin insists, still trying to catch Kyungsoo’s gaze with no luck. “I’m sure a lot of people have felt like that.”

“Yes, and I hate those people,” Kyungsoo deadpans, making Jongin snort and teasingly hit Kyungsoo’s side.

“You’re worrying about it too much,” Jongin assures, and Kyungsoo just grunts in reply.

Maybe it’s too soon, but Kyungsoo’s words have a small ring of hope sounding through Jongin’s heart, and he shyly bites on his bottom lip, failing to hold back his smile.

As they walk in silence, past the last of the dirt fields and along the edge of an untamed paddock of grass, the faultline stretches wider, now torn deep enough that they have to watch their step. It would barely put more distance between them, but Jongin still shifts over to Kyungsoo’s side, earning himself a judging look. Kyungsoo doesn’t protest or move away, though, even when they’re close enough that their arms brush every few steps. As they stay like that, only inching closer and closer along the way, Jongin thinks that the things Taemin said are seeming a little less crazy.

It’s a relief when they finally reach the entrance of the forest, and Jongin speeds ahead so he can dart through the gap between the crooked trunks, straight into the shade of the foliage. The whole world is a bit darker and damper, here, but the wind is finally cool, and he stops to take in a huge breath.

“Hello, trees! We’re here,” Jongin calls out, as Kyungsoo just waltzes past him with an amused smile.

“There’s still further to walk,” he informs, peering back at Jongin over his shoulder.

Spluttering, Jongin tries to complain that he’s already sore enough, but Kyungsoo doesn’t bother to slow down. With a sigh, Jongin jogs back up to him, leaves crunching under his feet as the two of them stray slightly from the dirt path and the cracked earth.

But they don’t have far to go before Jongin’s tripping over an uprooted bump in the ground, making Kyungsoo let out a chuckle before he shows Jongin the right places to place his foot on the uneven forest bed. Kyungsoo flits through the maze of twisted veins effortlessly, Jongin fumbling just behind him and keeping his palm on every trunk he can reach out to as the net becomes more intricate. Countless overlapping roots cover the floor, the rays of sun above them blocked by the thick cover of leaves, and the faultline to their side is nothing more than a few gaps left in between.

Soon, Jongin can see the tree that Kyungsoo’s heading towards, and he has to blink to believe his eyes, because this one looks like a giant compared to than any of the others surrounding it. With dozens of ridges splitting out from far above its base, the roots travel on for metres, splitting into thousands of smaller stems and seeming to anchor the entire structure of the forest.

“How- did that tree get so big?” Jongin pants out, eyes wide as Kyungsoo continues towards it, fitting himself into the grooves by its exposed trunk. The walls around him are so tall they almost reach the height of his shoulders, and Jongin is convinced he could be swallowed whole.

“You can sit down, now,” Kyungsoo states, turning back to him with a perfectly calm expression.

But Jongin doesn’t, instead navigating the sharp rises in the ground until he can grab onto one of the tracks and settle in right next to Kyungsoo. They’re cornered in like this, the air tight and the bark scratching Jongin’s skin, but neither of them seem to mind, and Kyungsoo only breaks eye contact to lean back against the foundations of the tree.

The moment Kyungsoo places his hands on the wood, Jongin swears he can feel a shift in the world. It’s that sound again- that fluttering heartbeat he remembers from last time, and it brings the whole forest to life. As Jongin looks around at the dancing leaves, down at the roots he stands on slowly curling closer together, as Jongin opens his mind to the chirping of the birds and the thrum of the earth, he can feels his heart blooming deep in his chest.

Of all the places Jongin’s ended up, this moment, right now, must be the most beautiful, and he knows nothing else will ever compare. But as Jongin’s glances over at Kyungsoo, at the way his eyes are peacefully closed, his head tilted back, the smallest smile softening his lips, Jongin can’t look away. He wants nothing more than to reach for his camera and take a photo of this, of _him_ , but he couldn’t disturb this magical feeling, and so he tries to breathe in this sight, to commit it to memory so he never forgets the warmth Kyungsoo fills him with.

A sudden tickle jolts Jongin from his trance, and he starts, grabbing at the back of his neck with the sudden fear of bugs. But it’s just a thin vine of leaves that’s playfully snaking around him, and Jongin sighs in complete relief, barely realizing how weird that is. With a friendly smile, Jongin tries to reach out to pinch at its blunt tip, but it coils around his thumb, instead. As it winds its way around the gaps in Jongin’s fingers, the rope seems to grow impossibly longer and he laughs, breathless as he thumbs along the soft leaves.

“It’s nice to see them finally satisfied with something,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin looks up to see Kyungsoo staring, so intense that he feels his stomach jump.

“They’re so cute,” Jongin says, unsure of what Kyungsoo could have meant.

“Only now that you’re here,” Kyungsoo clips. “Don’t fall for the innocent act.”

Chuckling, Jongin watches the vine slither away when Kyungsoo tries to reach out to it, instead wiggling up Jongin’s cheek. “Are you two fighting about something?” he asks, trying to sound sympathetic even though the frown on Kyungsoo’s face is amusing.

“Disagreeing,” he corrects, and Jongin pulls back to glare at his new friend.

“Hey, you be nice to Kyungsoo,” he chides, putting up a finger in warning that the vine only snakes around.

“It’s no use,” Kyungsoo says, his sigh bitter. “They won’t listen, and it’s not just them. It’s all the trees- and my family, as well.”

Confused, Jongin tries to catch his gaze, but Kyungsoo’s looking up at the towering tree. “What do you mean?” he asks gently.

Instead of answering, Kyungsoo lowers his head, hesitating before he meets Jongin’s worried eyes. Slowly, Kyungsoo leans forward, crossing the small distance between them without a word, and Jongin barely has the chance to swallow before a hand reaches up to his face. Heart caught in his throat, Jongin blinks down at the concentrated look on Kyungsoo’s face, and he feels his hair softly rustle when Kyungsoo brushes over the top of his head. A single leaf flutters down in the corner of Jongin’s vision, but the rest is taken up by Kyungsoo. Like this, they’re close enough that Jongin can hear every breath Kyungsoo lets out, his heart refusing to beat, the whole forest quiet as if they’re watching.

And then Kyungsoo steps back, face smoothed back into its normal indifference while Jongin’s chest is left searing.

“They’re all disappointed,” Kyungsoo finally answers, his voice monotone as his gaze lingers over Jongin. “They wanted me to stay in the city.”

Frozen in place, Jongin has to slowly pull the question out of his dry mouth. “But-” The word catches, and he coughs, his racing pulse echoing from the base of his throat. “You want to stay here- right?”

“I’m not sure,” Kyungsoo admits, head turning away, and Jongin feels a tight pressure dig into his heart, into his palm, making his fingers curl around the vine until it loosens.

This might be Jongin’s best chance, and his body is wracked with nerves, his thoughts tumbling over each other too fast to catch, but there’s so much hope filling his lungs that he feels he could burst.

“Well, you- you can visit. As much as you want,” he rushes out, earnest, before he takes a second to breathe. “You could stay in my room for a few days and just- try and figure out-”

“No, I can’t do that,” Kyungsoo says- simply, flatly, but it pierces straight through Jongin’s stomach, leaving him speechless in the ripples of the forest.

“But... why?” he breathes out, the words suffocating in the silence.

Kyungsoo slowly shakes his head, refusing to look at him, and Jongin’s chest clenches tighter.

“There’s no point. The city is for people with brains, or talents, and how could I belong there?” Jongin wants to argue- to tell him he’s wrong- but the way Kyungsoo’s mouth twists, his sigh shakes, has Jongin helpless. When Kyungsoo finally looks up, expression smoothed back out, his next words are bleak. “Farming- this forest... Those are the only things I can do. I can’t waste my time trying to avoid that.”

Jongin can feel the strings holding up his heart quietly break, and he can’t say anything, think anything, the world deaf to the hollow pounding in his skull.

“The trees are being too loud,” Kyungsoo says, grimacing as he touches his ear. “Are you hungry, yet?”

Mechanically, Jongin shrugs, unable to answer properly. His stomach feels completely numb, while the rest of his nerves are overloaded with static, but lately, he’s had no choice but to get used to that.

As they start on the long walk back, a new weight sits heavy in the pit of Jongin’s core, and it refuses to lessen, not when Kyungsoo shows Jongin his house or when his grandma feeds them and teaches Jongin how to make kimchi. Even when they’ve settled into Kyungsoo’s cramped room and Jongin’s laughing along to the things he says, there’s no chance of forgetting about the sharp edges that stab him from inside his ribcage.

He leaves at 5PM that night, after Kyungsoo’s dropped him back in the city with a strained smile and a quiet ‘goodbye’, and somehow, seeing Kyungsoo grow smaller and smaller from the window of the bus is worse this time around.

The ride back is still soaked with the hot evening air, but Jongin feels cold to his bones, like he just lost the last piece of shelter keeping him together, and the gnawing at his chest only starts to grow worse.

Somewhere between Jeongeup and home, Jongin gives in to it.

With frozen fingers and a bleeding heart, he takes out his phone, pulls up an old conversation he thought that he could forget, and starts to type.

 

 

 

➕

 

 

It’s been two months, but nothing seems to have changed.

There’s the same girl at the front desk, who’s eyes light up as Jongin steps out of the hot downpour and into the air-conditioned building, who makes light conversation as he signs his name off. Jongin answers her questions with vague lies, knowing he’ll have to get used to them, but it’s barely a relief when he can escape to the solitude of the change rooms.

Studio 5 has always been reserved for his private sessions, and with his belongings put away, Jongin turns the switch on with an echoing click, illuminating the hanging LED lights row by row. It’s unbearably silent as Jongin steps to the other side of the room, already avoiding looking at his reflection and the extra fat that clings to his leotard. There’s nothing but Jongin’s jagged breathing to fight the ringing in his ear, and he lowers himself to the cold, wooden floor by the barre, his back already stiff enough that Jongin knows he’ll hate this.

He’s always started and ended by stretching his legs, and that’s what he does now, desperate for the old habits to feel natural, again. Feet together, pointed straight ahead, Jongin flexes the soles in circular motions, once, twice, three times, feeling the strain in his tendons. The next part is worse, as Jongin tries to sweep both legs back into a full split, and the pain shoots up his thighs before he’s even fully seated. Hissing, Jongin tries to lower his groin back onto the floor, but his body yells in protest, his arms trembling to hold him up, and this is _pathetic_ , when Jongin used to be able to do the splits with blocks under his feet.

He pushes through the exercise until he’s inched his way down to the cold wood, only then relaxing his legs forward. Now is the time he would normally put on his pointe shoes, his toes already taped and a new pair from the supply closet sitting by his side. But Jongin needs a longer warm-up, today, and he continues in just his tights and toe pads, standing to stretch his back, his arms, the bones cracking as he does.

When Jongin can no longer avoid it, he lays a hand on the barre, the feeling achingly familiar, and turns his feet into third position. With a breath in, his lungs barely filling, Jongin holds his head up, pulling back his shoulders to tighten his core. Pointing out one foot and relaxing one arm into second, he starts to glide his toe across the floor, back and forth in a smooth motion. He counts seven beats before he darts down to pull his leg up, straightening it to reach the ceiling as the pressure makes his whole body tremble.

A sudden bang echoes deafeningly loud in the room, and Jongin shuts his eyes tight, not daring to turn around to the opened door. There are no footsteps, though, no other sound to break the tension of the air, and Jongin just prays that Hyukjae won’t say anything as Jongin lets his leg float back to the floor.

“Well, Jongin. It looks like we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

 


	8. Acte II - 7. Le retour de l'amant: Allegro

   

  

 

 

➕

 

 

Ballet returns to Jongin’s life like an old wound breaking open, the stitches torn out before the skin over his heart had properly healed.

Two months is the longest break Jongin’s ever taken, but in a way, it feels like he never even left. By the end of the first practice, his mind has already fallen into familiar habits, every second spent scrutinizing old exercises and new sequences, piano tracks ringing deafeningly loud over the top of it all.

In exchange, his holidays, his power, his time with Kyungsoo- those memories have started to fade like far-off fantasies, and Jongin lets them. He lets the dull ache they’ve left behind be buried deep in the hollow cage of his chest, sealed in by the constant repetition of every day.

It’s just like before. Jongin wakes up every morning at 8AM, and is in the dance studio, stretching, by 9AM. Once Hyukjae arrives, they go through barre exercises and strength conditioning until their lunch break. Summer classes are still running, so Jongin joins whichever advanced ballet, pointe, or modern dance workshop is on. For now, he avoids the partnered  _pas de deux_  classes, though he knows Hyukjae won’t take it well if he finds out.

During their private hours in between, Jongin’s main focus, his centre work, leads with adagio and ends with allegro. They have no set choreography to learn, so Hyukjae might run through an old routine or improvise a set of steps in the moment. Either way, it keeps Jongin busy until the 5:30PM finish, and while Jongin’s mind is already submerged in this familiar pattern, his body lags in the past.

Today is only Wednesday, his fourth day back, and he’s already worn through to the bone. Even without his old injury flaring up, his whole body aches, every muscle wrung too tight from the sudden, rigid labor. The last of Jongin’s energy had already left him three days ago, and there’s no chance of grabbing it back when he’s secretly put himself on another diet. Hyukjae would scold Jongin if he knew- even before the Juilliard audition, his coach was reluctant for Jongin to decrease his portion sizes. But to leave an impression, they decided to highlight Jongin’s natural litheness and show it in combination with his pointe work, both to add the extra intrigue to his image. That was clearly a waste, and now, Jongin’s just desperate for that extra weight to drop off, hoping that he’ll lose it fast under the same crushing pressure as before.

Hyukjae picks things up straight from where they left off- no leniency, no brakes, no excuses. That’s just how he’s always been, and Jongin had no reason to expect anything different, since it’s the reason why he asked Hyukjae to be his coach in the first place. Jongin’s always revelled in that discipline, that non-stop push to train, and right now, he knows that he needs it more than ever.

But as hard as Jongin’s working to block the rest out, only trying to cut and sharpen every move, he can feel that a serious conversation is looming over their cold studio. There’s no other explanation for why he overheard Hyukjae asking his parents to ‘come in for a chat’, tomorrow, and the thought of whatever’s coming has Jongin’s blood boiling, heart already missing beats, even if he knows that Hyukjae’s right.

From when he was seven years old and begging his parents to sign him up for classes, through to high school when he chose the longer hours of practice over his studies, to the first half of this year that was endless days of just preparing and perfecting- Jongin has only ever known ballet. After having his future set on Juilliard for the past four years, he knows he can’t keep blindly dancing in circles, that this is the time when he has to finally think of those other options Hyukjae tried to force on him months ago. Except now, Jongin may not have many left, though he can barely admit that, even to himself.

In ballet, there’s no place for male dancers without female partners, and Jongin is painfully aware that he won’t get far without facing that. He’s trying not to think about it- the less he does, the less real it seems. But his power has other ideas, and Jongin can  _feel_  it growing, feel it wrapping around his body like a terrible disease, always skittering just under his skin. No matter how hard he’s pushed it to the back of his mind, that stabbing dread won’t fade, and even if he’s swapped to long-sleeves and jerking away from Hyukjae’s correcting touches, he doesn’t know how long he’s safe.

But for now, Jongin just has to push himself through the orders, through the pain and the heartbreak until he finds the end of it, or until it all comes crashing down on him one more time.

For now, Jongin just dances, teeth gritted together and eyes forced ahead.

That’s all he can do.

“Again.”

With a harsh breath in, Jongin barely has time to hang his head or wipe the sweat from his brow before the next 8-count starts up. Straightening his shoulders and sucking in his stomach, he turns back around to face Hyukjae, positioned at the centre of the mirrored wall.

Arms lightly held out, Jongin moves through it [as fast as before](https://youtu.be/5EVMjnHFg-w?t=1h8m47s), first pointing his right foot out as he sweeps the left behind, then swapping legs. Two  _glissades jetes_  and he starts to travel across the bare floor, spinning once before he leaps forward into a  _saut de basque_ , legs pierced straight before he lands and repeats the jump. With as much strength as he can force out, Jongin ends the sequence on a  _double tour_ , pushing himself high enough to twist in the air. His arms pulled tight to his chest and one foot tucked to his knee, Jongin spins for two beats before he clatters back down- off-balance but quickly steadying himself.

Landed right in front of Hyukjae, Jongin stands still, legs burning as he gulps down air and swipes his hands through his drenched hair. Except this time, his coach doesn’t ask him to start again. Turning on his heel, Hyukjae marches to the wall to shut the music player off, the new silence pounding down as loud as the blood rushing through Jongin’s head.

Hyukjae doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to because Jongin already knows where and how he went wrong.

His  _saut de basques_  didn’t reach high enough, the second was barely on the beat, and his  _double tour_  was a tired attempt that didn’t even make it the whole two revolutions. Overall, it was a poor performance, just like his last four repeats of this same, intermediate sequence.

Ever since he came back, Jongin’s only felt like he’s going backwards, and today, this one-on-one ballet practice, is the worst yet. His lungs are scratched hoarse, throat burning from every mouthful of air he gulps down, and Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, digs his nails into his palm, doing anything to avoid Hyukjae’s stare in this jarring silence.

“Grab a drink, let’s take five,” Hyukjae clips, his footsteps echoing as he marches across the wooden floor, leaving Jongin to flinch away from the ugly reflection he’s faced with.

They’ve taken enough rests today- there’s been no other choice when Jongin’s too exhausted to get any of the moves right. But he can’t bear the thought of sitting on the side benches again with Hyukjae hovering over his shoulders, uselessly wasting those minutes until he stands up again, still just as sore as he is now. The least he can do is be alone for that time.

With a barely mumbled excuse, Jongin stalks to the door, legs straining under his own weight as he pushes out into the hallway. The change rooms are just around the corner, and Jongin avoids the scattered dancers he walks past, not bothering to greet any of them back. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s grabbed his bag from the locker and shuts himself in one of the cubicles, the door locked after him with a bang.

Huffing, Jongin collapses down onto the seat, hunched over on himself as he buries his head in his hands. His calves are still shaking, even as he sits still, and the thrashing of his heart against the sides of his head refuses to settle.

Letting out a harsh sigh, Jongin takes one last, hard tug at his hair before he caves to the gnawing at his chest. Back creaking as he bends down, Jongin digs around the main pocket of his bad until he feels the coolness of his phone slide against his fingers.

Gripping it tight in his hands, Jongin knows that he shouldn’t even try, that there’ll be nothing but a bitter taste left in his mouth when he gets let down again. But he checks anyway, his stomach churning as he turns the screen on with a quiet click.

There’s only one notification, black words stretched across the watercolor branches of the painting that’s hung up in Kyungsoo’s room. Jongin had set it as his background the night he’d left Gochang, against the part of him that knew he shouldn’t. Because now, he can’t stop staring at it as he struggles to fall asleep, or stop tracing his fingers over the brushstrokes when he has to remind himself that Kyungsoo was really a part of his life-

It doesn’t matter, though- it doesn’t change anything when all that stares back at him is a text from Joonmyun. Jongin hasn’t spoken to Kyungsoo since he came home, and he can feel the silence pushing him further and further into the shadows. But he’s already sworn not to bother Kyungsoo first, even if the light fades a bit more each time he grabs his phone and is met with nothing.

With a dull pang in his chest, Jongin unlocks his phone, anyway, and reads the message.

_Hello everyone,_  
_I know that today is a Wednesday so you may all be busy, and I’m sorry to disturb you. But we’ve had an unexpected visitor appear at our doorstep, and he wishes to meet you all._  
_I do not know the precise reason why, but he seems to know something about our powers, something more than we do, and I haven’t yet been able to make sense of it on my own._  
_I do not expect that he’ll stay long, so please, if any of you could come over today, we might have a better chance of understanding._  
_Let me know if you are available._  
_\- Joonmyun._   **Sent: 13:34**

Frowning, Jongin skims through it a second time, trying to put meaning to what Joonmyun has written. Except rereading it only raises more questions, and Jongin sends back the most obvious one.

_Who is it?_   **Sent: 14:17**

Jongin doesn’t know what kind of answer he’s expecting, or how much time he has left to wait for it, but after a few useless locks and unlocks of his phone screen, Joonmyun’s reply silently pops up.

_He’s a stranger, or just strange... It would be difficult to explain.  
Jongin, is there any chance you could make your way to my house? I’m sorry to be so insistent, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel it was urgent. _ **Sent: 14:18**

Rubbing at his sore eyes, hard enough that red seeps through, Jongin groans. His head is pounding louder than he can think, and Jongin has no idea which option is worse, his gut already lurching with dread- either at the half-hour trip it would take to get to Joonmyun’s to see whatever’s going on, or of having to force himself back into that studio and never knowing.

But as hard as he’s tried to ignore it, his power is bubbling just under the surface, and right now, it’s digging its teeth in, begging for more attention, desperate to break out after the weeks of being shoved down- and Jongin already knows that it could. So if there’s any chance of reasoning with it, or of shutting it up before it does something stupid, then Jongin can’t afford to stay.

_I’ll be there soon._ **Sent: 14:19**

The nerves picking at his chest, Jongin packs up and makes his way back to the studio, bag slung over his stiff shoulder as he walks down the hall.

He wishes he could skip over this part, and Jongin pauses outside his studio door, almost too much of a coward to go back in. But there’s no way he can disappear again, not if he wants to survive his renewed hours with Hyukjae, and with a shuddered breath, he steps inside.

Hyukjae’s pacing in front of the benches, talking to someone on the phone with his usual blunt tone, and he stops in his tracks when his eyes lock with Jongin’s in the mirror.

Guiltily turning away, Jongin hangs by the open door and waits for Hyukjae to wrap up his call - the brief bits Jongin catches enough to know they aren’t talking about him, at least.

With a curt goodbye, Hyukjae hangs up, and Jongin can feel his gaze boring into the side of his face, so piercing it makes Jongin shrink in on himself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hyukjae asks, the words already an accusation.

His fingers curled tight around the door frame, Jongin clears his throat, fixing his stare on the wooden planks. “Is it alright if I leave early, today?” he tries, voice quiet but steady.

The silence he gets back is deafening, and Jongin has no choice but to stand through it, his jaw clenched and his knees knocking together until Hyukjae finally speaks again, this time even sharper.

“Look, Jongin-” Hyukjae sighs, sounding more annoyed than anything else. “If you’re not ready for a full-time commitment, it would have been nice for you to tell me that before your parents rehired me, alright? I have been  _busting_  my  _ass_  to try and get you back on the radar after your little vacation from the ballet world. Things change fast around here, y’know, people talk, and a stunt like that makes it look like you don’t give a shit.” Heart bitterly twisting, Jongin shoots a look up at Hyukjae, who’s pacing again, this time less organized and more rushed. “And right when I’ve gotten big things lined up for you, you decide to tell me I should have just saved my breath-”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Jongin cuts in, making Hyukjae stop and turn to stare at him, like he’s shocked that Jongin could actually talk back so informally. Honestly, Jongin is, too. But the moment of anger shrivels back quickly, leaving Jongin a stuttering mess, his voice weak as he tries to correct himself. “I’m- I just need to go see my friend about this- something important. But this is just for today, and I can be back here in two hours-”

“Well don’t expect me to wait up for you,” Hyukjae states, arms folded tight across his chest, and Jongin deflates.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, stealing a quick look at Hyukjae, at the indifference on his face, before Jongin hangs his head. “It won’t happen again it’s just- just today.”

“It better not. But I expect you back in here tomorrow, ready by 9AM sharp, and it’d be nice if you actually tried this time.” Stilling, Jongin feels the acid rise back up his throat, his stomach seizing up because he’s been _ripping himself apart in here_ \- “This is a one-time thing, and you better get your act together fast. Next week, there’s no more screwing around, alright? We’re gonna be training properly again, and if you can’t give me all of your attention and your energy, then don’t even bother showing up on Monday. You got that?”

“Yeah, got it,” Jongin grits out, nails digging into the wood.

“Good. Now get lost,” Hyukjae states before he turns away from him. “Go help your friend, or whatever you’re actually going to do. And take a nap while you’re at it.”

As Hyukjae start to type on his phone, Jongin lingers in the room, his mind boiling from all the words he could spit back. But he stays silent, the argument only a dead weight sitting on his tongue when he finally lets the door swing shut and stalks back to the change rooms.

 

 

 

☯

 

 

There’s a heavy shadow looming over Joonmyun’s house when Jongin arrives. Early that morning, Jongin remembers the sky had cleared to a bright blue for the first time in days, though he’s lost count of how many it’s been. But now, the sun is gone, barely lit up behind the thick brush of clouds, and the air presses down with the threat of an afternoon storm.

Sighing, Jongin drags himself further up the slanted driveway, his heart uncomfortably large in his chest. Summer’s almost over, but the last of the humidity clings to Jongin’s skin, and he’s at least grateful he’ll be out of it soon, even with no idea of what he’s walking into. Sehun’s texts were less than helpful, and the only extra information Jongin has is that their guest is wearing martial arts robes and doesn’t speak a word of Korean. If Jongin had known that before, he might not have bothered to show up. But it’s too late, now, and he’s already given himself an hour before he has to head back to the dance studio, so he lets himself inside, anyway.

His steps slowing, Jongin slips through the entryway and into the quiet coolness of the house. As he carefully shuts the door and toes his shoes off, the murmurs of voices float up to him from down the hallway, gentle and far-off in the ringing of Jongin’s ears.

He must be overthinking it, but Jongin swears he can feel something off about this place today- something misplaced- like the cabinet and the floral painting that have shifted to the opposite wall, and it sends an unwelcome pang through his sore chest. Taking a second to squeeze his eyes shut, Jongin starts to pad around the corner, trying not to disturb the stillness as he slips further inside the house.

Along the main corridor, new, uneven gaps between the framed photos stare down at him, and with a shiver jolting down his spine, Jongin realizes that a half of the family portraits have been taken down. Somehow, this is more unsettling than the eyes of Joonmyun’s younger brother following his every move, when now, instead, the bare, white walls only seem to close in on him from either side, and Jongin has to quicken his pace to rush past. Blood pounding, he tells himself that he’s being irrational, that it’s only Joonmyun redecorating, but the haunting shadows don’t lift the whole way through to the living room.

All heads turn to Jongin as he breaks into the open light, silencing the conversation at the kitchen counter between Joonmyun and a boy much younger than Jongin had expected. Staring Jongin down with narrowed eyes, their guest is entirely covered by navy clothing, with a long robe crossed over his chest and hanging low over his wide pants, while his black hair is tied back in a bun.

Rather than going to join Sehun on the couch, Jongin figures it’s more polite to walk up to the two of them and introduce himself, even if he doesn’t remember more than a dozen Chinese words or characters from his  _hanja_  classes. But before he’s had a chance to breathe out a  _nihao_  or to bow to their new, strangely-dressed visitor, the boy is barraging up to Jongin- a whirlwind of flapping fabrics and high-pitched shouting, and Jongin instantly freezes in his tracks.

Not a single syllable makes sense to him, but their panic and urgency don’t need translating, the fire in this stranger’s dark eyes almost as threatening as how fast he flies across the floor towards him. Throwing his hands up in defense, Jongin stumbles backwards until he’s cornered against the wall and the stranger’s closing in on him, Jongin’s splutters drowned out by the words being spit right into his face.

Insistently, the boy lunges an arm out, aiming for Jongin’s hand who flinches, automatically stuffing both behind his back. But that only stops the stranger for a second, and Jongin doesn’t even get to catch a breath before he feels his arm being twisted, flesh clutched into an iron grip as the whole world flashes white-hot, making him cry out.

The noises double in volume, yells still crystal clear and stabbing knives into Jongin’s skull- but his eyes show none of it, vision shocked numb as pain wracks his body apart. There’s nothing but blinding light wherever Jongin frantically turns, fire ripping through him with every tug away from the flames that lick up his arm, his neck, his throat-

“Zitao,” a soft voice tries, barely ringing louder than Jongin’s panting in all the chaos, in the static that’s loud enough to deafen him-

And then it ends, the noises shrunk back to normal as Jongin stumbles back, hitting the wall with a thud that echoes in the new silence. His eyes stinging, Jongin has to blink until the white spots clear from his view, but then, the only thing he sees is him - Zitao - standing too close and giving him an odd look, his thick brows furrowed. With a peal of laughter, Zitao’s face softens into a childish grin that Jongin only stares at, bewildered, still blinking the last dryness from his eyes. As Joonmyun gently leads Zitao back to the kitchen counter with a hand on his back, Zitao says something else, his tone mocking as he side-eyes Jongin, but Jongin doesn’t have the energy to care.

With a tired sigh, he slumps over, hands resting on his thighs as Jongin waits for the throb behind his lids to dull. Ahead of him, he can hear an automated voice start to play in Chinese, the words deep and over-accentuating. Joonmyun must have found some sort of translation app that they could use before Jongin came in. But it doesn’t seem to be working, because Zitao only clips back at it impatiently, making hand gestures that Joonmyun tries to calm down.

His headache quieted to only a thrum, Jongin leans his heavy body off the wall and turns to make eye contact with Sehun. His friend gives a weak smile back, and Jongin drags himself over to take the empty space next to Sehun, his duffle bag dropped along the way.

“Hey,” Jongin breathes out, sinking his back into the squeaky couch.

“Hey,” Sehun says, his voice quiet.

Letting his eyes fall shut, Jongin just wants a moment to calm his racing heart back to normal. But the air is too loud with Zitao’s voice, his complaints only broken up by Joonmyun’s soft coaxes of his name and the few Chinese words he must know. It almost seems like a bad comedy, but Jongin can’t find the humor in it, right now, and he knows he’d get fed up too quickly to help Joonmyun out.

“Did you come from the studio?” Sehun asks after a moment. Jongin squints his eyes open to peer at him, but Sehun’s gaze is still fixed on his lap.

“Yeah, I was training with Hyukjae,” Jongin states, running both hands through his hair with a groan. Sehun only nods, and before the silence can settle too heavily in between them, Jongin swallows and asks back, “Have you been over there lately?”

“Oh- no.” Sehun hunches lower, hands nervously fidgeting on his thighs. “No, I quit.”

“What- when?” Jongin demands with a frown aimed at Sehun.

“After the last showcase,” Sehun replies. “I mean, I made it through all the levels, and it’s not like I was going to do anything with it.”

Jongin only stares at him, not believing the bluntness in his voice when Sehun used to only talk about ballet with a giant smile. “You were good, though,” Jongin states, and Sehun only shrugs, thumbing along the inside of his palm.

“Not that good. Not like you, or Taemin, or-” Suddenly flinching, Sehun snatches his hands back and curls them against his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Jongin asks, already reaching for Sehun’s wrist.

Turning his palm up, Jongin reveals the smoke spurting from Sehun’s palm, black flames crackling as they rush a trail of ash up his veins and towards the tips of Jongin’s fingers. Gasping, Jongin jolts before the fire can scorch him, releasing his grip just as Sehun calmly draws his arm back to his body.

“It’s nothing,” Sehun insists, and Jongin’s heart is still pounding in his throat, breathing scattered as the robotic voice behind them slowly edges back into his ears, Sehun’s words only now filtering through the white noise and the black smoke while Sehun’s mouth stays still.

“What- what’s-” Jongin pants out, but Sehun just sighs.

Silently, he offers Jongin a look at both his hands, and Jongin sees now that one of his palms is only tinged a brighter shade of pink than his pale skin, with the backs of it’s fingers almost a bright red. But there are no flames- nothing Jongin could have gotten mixed up with or-

“It doesn’t hurt or anything,” Sehun assures, and Jongin still can’t get a grasp on what he’s talking about.

“So- what happened to your hand?” Jongin asks, forcing the words out from the mess of his mind.

“Well, when-” Sehun sneaks a look behind Jongin’s head before he turns to him with a worried frown. “When  _he_  first showed up here, Chanyeol just- he freaked out, like, completely. As soon as that guy walked in, Chanyeol got all sick-looking, like he was going to throw up or something-”

“Wait,” Jongin cuts in, finally understanding. “So Chanyeol  _burned_  you?”

“He didn’t mean to! Just let me finish, first,” Sehun defends, but Jongin still gawks, his stomach recoiling in disgust. “So Chanyeol ran upstairs and I went after him, and he locked himself in the bathroom before I could get in. I tried, but- the doorknob was, like, boiling hot, so I got burned when I tried to open it, alright?” Sehun’s giving him a pleading look, and so Jongin sighs, backing off. “I’m serious, it wasn’t on purpose! And after that, I could hear him vomiting, but... he hasn’t come out since then.”

“Did you run that under cold water?” Jongin asks with a point at Sehun’s hand.

“No- kind of, that’s not important,” Sehun rushes out, waving his question away. “I’m just- I’m really worried about him, now. And he seemed better lately, too…” Sehun lets out a deep sigh. “I wish I could help him, or- that he’d let me or… Something.”

“Well, you can’t force him to come out,” Jongin states.

“Yeah, I know that,” Sehun murmurs, his head hung low. “It still sucks, though.”

Not knowing what else to say, Jongin gives an awkward pat to Sehun’s leg before he shifts in his seat, his head leaning back to rest on the leather.

“Today’s been super weird,” Sehun continues, musing. “First, this guy shows up out of nowhere-“

Vaguely listening, Jongin lets Sehun carry on, just trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest. But it sounds like someone’s broken the translation app, the same word repeating over and over and mixed in with Sehun’s hurried words, and it makes it impossible for Jongin to keep his eyes shut. Grimacing, Jongin opens them to stare up at the plain ceiling above them- except now, the white is fuzzy, darting over broken black lines in hurried strokes, the whistle of a harsh wind blocking out the rest of the noise, and Jongin stares for a moment- frozen- caught in the middle of a snowstorm-

But the next second Jongin blinks, he’s only looking at a blank sheet of paint and an array of overhead light bulbs, scattered and linked by silver rails. When he looks again- and again- there’s nothing but ceiling and the dim white glowing above them.

Sucking in a shallow breath, one that barely breaks past the barrier in his lungs, Jongin hunches over on himself as the howling slowly fades from his mind, muffled under too many other voices.

“- then he’s rearranging half the furniture and Joonmyun has to- uh...” Sehun pauses, his next words coming out more cautious. “Are you... alright there, man?”

Rubbing at his sore eyes, Jongin just shrugs, wincing as Zitao’s loud laugh splinters his ears. “Yeah, it’s just-” Jongin doesn’t know what it is, what the hell’s gotten into him since Zitao touched him. But the nerves eating at his chest don’t feel any sharper than usual, stomach only twisted in the usual knots, and maybe this is just the past few weeks of too much emotion catching up on him. “Didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a lie. Jongin never does, anymore.

“Yeah, you do look pretty tired,” Sehun says with a pity that makes Jongin grit his teeth. “So... uh- what else you been up to?”

“Not much,” Jongin mumbles, brushing his hands through his hair. “You?”

“Well, not to brag or anything,” Sehun starts, his voice slightly brighter. “But I found someone else with powers, the other day.”

“You did?” Jongin asks, almost curious.

“Yep,” Sehun chirps out, already leaning back to fish his phone out of his jean pocket. “Kyungsoo-approved and everything.”

With a painful jab to his heart, Jongin stills, hands curling tight into the roots of his hair. He doesn’t say anything, though, doesn’t move as Sehun pulls up his YouTube app and scoots closer to him.

“The video went viral on Monday, and everyone’s been coming up with different ways the dude could’ve done it,” Sehun explains, turning it to full-view before Jongin can get the title. “But then I figured it’s gotta be- well, if you watch it you’ll get what I mean.”

Numbly, Jongin only stares at the black screen, waiting for the video to load. With Zitao’s outburst across the room, Jongin can barely hear the backing track start to play until Sehun’s turned the volume up, a deep electronic beat echoing and amplifying in the blankness.

“Wait, it gets cooler,” Sehun assures, just as a spark of white flickers in the centre.

Another glare bursts out a moment later, right on time with the sharp pulsing of the music that throbs with Jongin’s head. The bass starts to pound louder, only broken up by the squeaking of shoes across the wooden floor as the sparks fire like flashlights. But each one leaves behind a dull glow, and Jongin leans closer, just able to make out the silhouettes of two- three people dancing fast and clean to the hip-hop choreo in an unlit studio, the one in the middle illuminating the others with every touch of his hand.

As the speed builds up, the intensity close to crashing and Jongin fully transfixed, two beams of white are streaked along the length of his arms, and then his whole chest is lighting up- blindingly bright with only the shadows of fingers to block out the rays.

With a sudden yell, the video is being ripped away, music cut off as Jongin looks up to see that Zitao’s ripped the phone out of Sehun’s hand and has started to wave it around. Zitao’s shooting his glare between them and hissing words at lightning speed, making Jongin’s head sear painfully hot. His skull threatening to crack open at the seams, Jongin has to bow over as Sehun darts forward, knocking into him and skinning his knee.

“- c’mon man, just give it back,” Sehun insists, his Korean pleads useless in trying to calm Zitao down.

“Zitao, it’s okay,” Joonmyun assures, adding another voice to the stabbing at Jongin’s skull.

His vision bleeds red, palms digging deep into his closed eyes, and Jongin grits his teeth through the pain, air stinging his dry mouth as he prays for all the noise to just stop-

And with one last shout- not Zitao’s, maybe Joonmyun’s- the cry loud enough to split Jongin’s chest apart, everything starts to shrink back, leaving Jongin with only a faint pounding in his ears.

Weight dips down next to him, making Jongin jolt, his body breaking out of it’s rigid lock,

“Jeez, that guy’s weird. Where the hell is he going, now?” Sehun sighs out, his words eventually clear enough to blow the fog from Jongin’s mind.

With a shuddered breath, he finally draws his hands back, letting the overhead lights slowly fill the gaps in his sight.

“You sure you’re not hungover?” Sehun asks, staring at Jongin with genuine curiosity, and Jongin only shakes his head, briefly wincing from the twinge it sends to his temples.

“Just tired,” he states, his own voice sounding distant.

“Looks like both of you could use a nap,” Sehun says, speaking slightly louder so he can address Joonmyun from across the room.

Through sore eyes, Jongin watches Joonmyun trudge back towards them, his shoulders drooped as he slowly lowers himself onto the adjacent couch, sitting diagonal to Jongin. His expression drawn into a weak frown and dark circles noticeably heavy, Joonmyun does look exhausted, but not any more than usual.

“So…” Sehun starts, awkwardly filling the silence. “Any luck with the translating?”

“None,” Joonmyun says, his chin rested on his knuckles and gaze on the table. “None at all.”

“Yeah, I warned you that the app doesn’t work super well,” Sehun says with a shrug.

“Well, Zitao wasn’t very- receptive, either,” Joonmyun says, before letting out a soft sigh. “I don’t think he’s familiar with the technology.” Sehun snorts to that statement, but Joonmyun quietly continues. “If we wanted any hope of communicating with him, we would need another person to translate.”

“Well, it seems a bit late for that,” Sehun jokes. “He bolted out of here so fast that he’s probably half-way back to China by now.”

“Yes, he really did,” Joonmyun says, tone flat. Trying to dislodge the weight sitting heavy in his chest, Jongin sits back, quietly clearing his throat. “I tried to tell him to come on Sunday, though I’m not sure if he understood,” Joonmyun explains. “Hopefully, by then, Yixing will have been able to return my message.”

“Uh- Yixing? Is that really a good idea, I mean... Isn’t he kind of busy?” Sehun questions, treading lightly, and Jongin flicks a look up at Joonmyun’s grave expression.

“Of course he is, and though Zitao was insistent on meeting him, I wouldn’t have disturbed him, normally. It’s just... from what I could gather, Zitao happens to also be from Changsha.” Joonmyun shrugs slightly, a faint smile gracing his lips. “It may be nothing, but it seems like an interesting coincidence.”

Jongin’s more convinced by it being nothing, just like he is with the fact that this whole trip wasn’t worth his time. He can’t blame anyone for it, but the wasted hours, the piercing looks from Hyukjae- that’s all he got back, along with a new fear that his sanity is falling apart.

“I guess that’s all we can go off,” Sehun sighs out, flopping back against the cushions. “So, basically, we’re just waiting for people to reply back or for Zitao to reappear- and then I’m wondering if this lightshow guy will even bother to accept my message.”

“Yes, basically,” Joonmyun murmurs, sat perfectly still.

With his hands wrung tight in his lap, Jongin knows he can’t stay, that the hammering against his chest will only get worse if he doesn’t try and push it back.

“I think- I think I’ll head home, then,” Jongin states, and Joonmyun only offers him a kind look, nodding.

“Yeah- um- I’m just gonna stick around a bit longer,” Sehun says, voice a little too high to be casual. “Y’know, just to see if Chanyeol comes out or something.”

Taking that as his cue to leave, Jongin hauls himself up onto weak legs, the strings in his overworked muscles wound tight enough to snap. But he keeps a straight face on, barely crumpling as he shuffles over to pick his bag off the floor, the heaviness bearing down hard on his shoulder. A quick check of the LED lights of the DVD player tells Jongin that it’s 17:34- two and a half hours since he first got here, and way too late to bus back to the dance studio. But Jongin had already guessed that from the darkness seeping in through the sliding doors, and so the pang of his raw nerves doesn’t make him think much else.

In silence, he lets Joonmyun follow him back out of the room, back down the haunting corridor and around to the entrance. With a bow and goodbye, Jongin steps outside, having already accepted Joonmyun’s thanks and refused to borrow an umbrella, though it looks like he might need one.

The wind is whipping through the hot air, sweeping Jongin’s hair back and sticking to his bare skin as he starts to march. Overhead, above the tops of the modern houses and apartment complexes, Jongin can sees a storm pressing impossibly close, the whole sky flashing black for a split few seconds.

But when Jongin reopens his eyes, there are only thick, grey clouds rolling in from every side above him, the light completely blocked out amongst the thousands of shadows. Taking a harsh breath, Jongin drops his head low, dragging his feet as he walks along the sidewalk, and he isn’t even surprised when the first clap of thunder strikes down.

 

  

 

☯

 

 

From the driveway to the front porch of his house, Jongin races through the downpour, sneakers splashing amongst the puddles as his parents slam the car doors shut. The rain didn’t quiet all night, and the gloom is even worse today than it was when he left Joonmyun’s.

With his arms clutched tight to his chest, Jongin stands chattering under the shelter as his mom unlocks the front door. He’s the first one inside, having barely chucked his shoes off or shaken the droplets from his hair before rushing through. As Jongin jogs up the stairwell, his mom calls out dinner plans - barbequed beef to celebrate - and Jongin only throws a vague reply over his shoulder.

There’s nothing for him to celebrate, not when all he wants is to be left alone, to shut himself in his room and collapse on his bed. Keeping the light off, his bag spilled onto the mess of the floor, Jongin does exactly that. He falls down into the mattress, landing on his pinched waist with a wince. Turning on his other side, the one that doesn’t sting, Jongin curls up on himself, his hands fisted tight into the pillow and eyes squeezed shut.

After today’s practice, every part of him feels tense, clenched up, and it's impossible for him to do anything when his heart’s still running too fast for him to catch. Hyukjae’s words replay in his mind like a jarred track on double speed- and all he sees is his parents’s smiles, their proud pats still clawing at his stiff shoulders. It’s been so long since they’ve been happy with him, but this was the news they’d been waiting for ever since Juilliard fell through, and Hyukjae made sure to sell it:

An audition with the Korean National Ballet in two months time, an inside source confirming the high demand for male dancers this season, a guaranteed paycheck if Jongin gets in. ‘His chances are excellent’, ‘this is the opportunity that could jumpstart his career’, ‘we’ve picked a much more attainable goal this time around’- Of course it sounds good, and Jongin knows that everything Hyukjae said was right, that even if he had the choice, this is the direction he should go in.

But, somehow, Jongin only feels more lost, now, this new deadline- November 4th- battering on his head as loud as the storm outside, and he lets out a shaky breath, knowing that two months will pass in a flash. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast around him, while Jongin is left frozen in the dark, helpless as he lets himself be dragged down, further and further away from the way out.

A light winks at him, a dim, white glow in the distance, but Jongin ignores it, screwing his eyes further shut. His mind played more tricks on him, today, with the studio lights blaring too bright one second and too low the next, or the music skipping sections and jolting his rhythm. Mostly it’s just frustrating, but Jongin’s managed to dance through it after the first time, and now, he knows to ignore the ringing of Tchaikovsky’s  _Overture_  from  _The Nutcracker_ , fully aware that his phone has been on silent for the whole week.

Except blocking his ears doesn’t help him, only making the symphony tinker louder, the tune gratingly cheerful and too high-tempo. With a huff, Jongin pries his eyes open, immediately silencing the song. But there’s still a faint rim of light, glinting from under the cover of something else, and Jongin pushes himself up on faltering arms, sitting on the edge of his bed to reach for it.

Tossing aside a dirty shirt, Jongin bends down and picks his phone off the ground, the pain from his waist barely felt with how high his heart jumps at what he sees.

The name  _Kyungsoo~_  stares back at him, lighting up his whole screen and flushing Jongin’s face red.

Breathless, he tells himself that it has to be just another illusion, another prank- that when he swipes the accept button- when he holds it up to his ear- when he waits through the static- that he shouldn’t expect to hear anything on the other end-

“Hello? Jongin?”

The familiarity of that voice washes through hi, like a wave crashing to shore, filling Jongin’s lungs with clear water for the first time all week, and he’s overflowing before he can stop himself, lip pressed hard between his teeth and his eyes hidden behind shaking fingers.

“I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing,” Kyungsoo states bluntly, and Jongin lets out a gasped chuckle.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m here,” he answers, before clearing the raspiness from his voice. “Hey.”

“Were you trying to ignore me?” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Jongin laughs again, rubbing the last wetness from his lashes.

“Of course not,” he assures. “I’m just- surprised you called.”

“I see. How are you?” Kyungsoo asks, his tone barely lilting with the question, and Jongin smiles to himself, hoping so badly that if this is a dream, that he won’t wake up.

“Good- I’m good.” He’s better, at least. Leaning his back to the wall, Jongin lets his eyes slip shut, his voice melding with the softened patter of rain against his window. “What about you?”

“Joonmyun told me about what happened yesterday, with the man who came looking for us,” Kyungsoo says instead, his words weighed down with concern. “He said that you met him, as well. Did you?”

“I… I went over for a bit, yeah.” Kyungsoo stays silent, and with a frown, Jongin shifts to sit straighter, crossing his legs under himself. “Is everything okay?”

“When you were around Zitao,” Kyungsoo starts, slow and measured. “Did anything feel different?”

As if on cue, the opposite wall is flooded with a blinding white- lit up to the ceiling for only the quickest second. With the darkness dripping back in from the corners, no thunder follows, and Jongin swallows thickly.

“No- not really,” Jongin lies, stuffing a hand under his leg. “Why are you asking?”

“Something seems wrong,” Kyungsoo insists, not missing a beat. “I don’t know what exactly, but things are changing, and he’s the one behind it. I want to meet him, just to try and understand.”

“Well, that might be hard,” Jongin states, relaxing slightly. “We have no idea where he went.”

“Not far, I imagine. There’s a strong energy around Joonmyun’s house that I doubt he can ignore.”

Unsure of what to say, Jongin just hums, and as the seconds tick by, a silence softly drapes over the space between them. The world is quiet, now that the rain has stopped, and Jongin settles down on his back, phone nestled against his warm cheek. Staring up at the shadowed ceiling, he can spy the faintest hues of blue seeping in from the crack above the curtains, like the evening sun has finally come out.

“What do the trees have to say about it?” Jongin asks, genuinely wondering.

“The same thing,” Kyungsoo answers, his voice smooth, gentle. “They say to come back,”

“They still won’t let that go, huh?” Jongin jokes, heart only lightly panging.

But Kyungsoo just sighs, and Jongin pauses, feeling the smile on his face fade, dragging the corners of his mouth down.

“I think that they might be right,” Kyungsoo says a moment later.

Steeling himself, Jongin lays a hand across his forehead and shuts his eyes, forcing himself not to jump ahead. “What do you mean?” he asks instead, his voice kept neutral.

“I don’t know, yet. I have to think about it more,” Kyungsoo murmurs, a sadness tingeing his soft words, and Jongin’s lungs bloom with hope. “I’m sorry, but I have to go, now.”

“Wait- Kyungsoo-” he rushes out, bolting upright from the sudden rise in Kyungsoo’s voice.

“Goodbye, Jongin.”

“But-” Jongin stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. He knows there’s nothing he can do, that it’s a useless fight, and he hangs his head, letting his hand catch the weight. “Bye, Kyungsoo.”

A beat of silence passes, both of them left in mid-air as Jongin holds his breath, waiting until the very last second and the faint sigh Kyungsoo lets out.

The call disconnects, dial ringing loud in his ear, and Jongin feels himself being pulled back, sinking lower and lower into the sheets. He lies there in the dark, as the shards in his chest break a little bit more, the room now deafeningly quiet and achingly lonely.

 

 

 

☯  

 

 

The last two days race by him in a blur, Jongin stretching himself paper-thin to keep up with Hyukjae’s orders and the outlines of a new choreography.

But somehow, sore and bruised, Jongin makes it through the first week, his waist burning red-hot by the end of it. He knows that it’s only going to get worse, though. Hyukjae had warned him, drilling the rules in over and over: no more cut sessions and no more excuses- Jongin doesn’t have time for that anymore, for anything less than one hundred percent, and the words had left him numb to the bone.

Sunday is the only day he gets to stay home, and Jongin silences every alarm, shutting the curtains tight to keep the last rays of daylight out. He’s passed out before the sun has set and doesn’t stir until the next afternoon, not once jolting awake from a too-bright dream or a shattered nightmare. This is the first time in weeks that he’s slept through the night, his body way too tired to protest.

When Jongin finally does break out from the fog, barely able to pry his eyes open, every muscle crushed and leaden, he’s just grateful that he won’t have to move all day. But before he can bury his head back into the pillow and disappear into the shadows, his stomach lets out a low grumble at him. With a muffled sigh, Jongin knows he’ll have to get up and make lunch soon, and the thought sends a pang through his empty gut.

He can’t find the energy yet, though, not when turning onto his back already has a dull throb wringing his waist. Sighing, lungs pressing uncomfortably tight on his heart, Jongin reaches for the bedside table, sliding his fingers across the cold wood until he grasps his phone.  

He doesn’t know what he would have ended up doing otherwise, how much time he would have let go to waste, but everything else fades back when he sees two missed calls from Kyungsoo. Even as he blinks the last bleariness from his eyes, the notifications on his screen don’t shift, and Jongin swallows, heart rate picking up as he opens the unread text.

_I’m at Joonmyun’s. Where are you?_ **Sent: 11:41**

Stunned, Jongin shakes his head, trying to throw away the early morning illusion. But the words are still there, still crystal clear under his contact name when Jongin checks again, and he must have run over the message a dozen more times before he remembers to take in a breath.

Sehun’s sent him something, too, and Jongin rubs a hand across his cheeks, mind reeling as he taps on that next.

_Dude u HAVE to get over to joonmyuns asap. Kyungsoo and yixing are here and zitaos just turned up and everyones losing it!!!!!_ **Sent: 12:19**

_SERIOUSLY WHERE R U SO MUCH IS GOING DOWN_ **Sent: 12:23**

Right now, the time reads 3:31PM, and Jongin doesn’t even hesitate to jump straight out of bed, throwing clean clothes on and fixing his hair as fast as possible so that he’s dashing out of the house by a quarter to four.

The world blurs by him from the bus windows, with Jongin spending the few short minutes to Gangnam tapping his foot and texting Sehun, who replies repeatedly to tell him that Kyungsoo’s still around.

As soon as Jongin’s let off, the ride shorter than ever, he doesn’t waste a single second. Blood pounding, he sprints down the sidewalk of the main street and skids onto the neighbourhood roads, already heaving and sweaty from the high, afternoon sun. With the walls stretched far above him, Jongin ignores the screeching of his waist and doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter until he can see Joonmyun’s open driveway.

He’d have used the last of his energy to run to the door, too, if there weren’t an unfamiliar black car parked outside. But the driver’s window is rolled down, and as Jongin jogs closer, he locks gazes with the person sitting in front- a stern, older man that Jongin quickly darts his eyes away from, concentrating instead on steadying his breaths and slowing to a walk as he passes around the other side.

Taking the porch steps two at a time, Jongin doesn’t bother to knock, instead letting himself straight into the house and starting down the hallway. His heartbeat is racing as he hears Sehun call out from the living room, and before Jongin can yell back, his friend is already up and marching towards him, no one else following.

“It’s about time, man!” Sehun laughs out. He falls straight into step with Jongin, who’s still panting as they step into the open sunlight. “You missed, like, _everything_! Zitao’s already run off, again, Yixing _collapsed_ as soon as he left, and oh my god- _”_

Barely hearing a word Sehun’s saying, Jongin just makes noises of agreement, too busy twisting his neck to search the living room and kitchen. But they’re both empty, only open food packets on the table and misplaced cushions on the couch to show that more people have been here.

“- like, I can’t even explain it, man- the whole thing was too crazy. You and Jongdae couldn’t have picked a worse-” Suddenly, Jongin stops and turns to him, making Sehun fall silent.

“Do you know where Kyungsoo went?” Jongin rushes out.

For one second, Sehun’s expression drops. But then he just lets out a soft chuckle, eyes closed as he motions a hand to the backyard.

“Yeah, he’s sitting out there. Once all the weird stuff was over and we got Yixing upstairs, he made a run for it,” Sehun explains, a small smile crossing his face. “He’s been hanging with the tree for the past hour. Guess they’re catching up or something.”

“I’m- I’m gonna go say hi to him,” Jongin states, and Sehun only nods, head ducked as they split ways.

As Sehun wanders back to the couch and turns the television on, the dialogue muffled, Jongin is left to hesitate by the door. He can’t see Kyungsoo yet, but with only a few metres between them, Jongin can feel everything around him start to slow down, the nerves finally catching up and making his legs weak.

As everything falls silent under the pounding in his chest, Jongin takes one last, shaky breath in to brace himself. Gently, his stomach leaping as he does, Jongin slides the glass door open, and he takes a step past the ledge.

The air outside is still heavy with the last heat of summer, the faintest breeze ruffling Jongin’s hair as he drifts forward, time almost slowed to a stop.

A thin veil of white sheets hide the backyard, now gently flying in the wind, and when Jongin reaches out a hand, lightly brushing them away, he sees the whole world open up in front of him.

Suddenly, he’s back in the forest, drops of sunlight seeping through the shade of a thousand branches above him, all of them stretching and tangling as far as the eye can see. In the centre, high above everything else, stands the tallest tree. It sings as its roots twist and turn, forming bridges that run from the trunk to the brown forest floor, the walls serving to protect a tiny, sitting Kyungsoo, who has a beam on his face and his eyes on Jongin.

It only lasts for a second, and the next thing Jongin knows, the garden has brightened back to normal. All that’s left is clear blue skies and one thin tree at the centre of the yard, while Kyungsoo’s navy shirt has turned light green. But his smile is still there, still turned to him, and it only grows wider as Jongin steps out into the open.

“You’re late,” Kyungsoo calls out, the usual sternness gone from his voice, and Jongin can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he says. As he crosses the last distance towards him, Jongin feels like he could be floating, the weight on his chest lifting with every step. “But I’m here now!”

“Yes, and you better have a good excuse,” Kyungsoo warns, his expression instantly hardening.

With a light chuckle, Jongin lowers himself on the grass next to Kyungsoo. There’s no room to rest against the trunk, but Jongin’s happy to just sit back and stretch his legs out, their feet almost bumping as he flashes a grin at Kyungsoo’s frown.

“Does sleeping count?” Jongin teases, which only has Kyungsoo raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Until the afternoon?” he questions.

“Hey- my alarm was turned off,” Jongin defends, but Kyungsoo appears unconvinced, his gaze turning to the side.

“It seems I was right about you ignoring me,” he states darkly.

“What- but I’m not!” Kyungsoo only cuts him a sharp glare from behind his glasses, and Jongin splutters, blushing down at the ground. “Really, I swear- I- I had no idea you were coming until I woke up today,” he mumbles out.

Kyungsoo only stays silent for a few seconds, before his next question comes out just as accusing. “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“Not  _that_ late,” Jongin assures, sneaking a peek from under his fringe. At Kyungsoo’s unchanged scowl, Jongin just huffs and switches to a pout. “It’s true! I was just tired because I’ve been getting up early everyday to train.”

Suddenly, Kyungsoo’s expression softens, surprise crossing his face for a brief moment.

“You’re doing ballet, again,” he says flatly, and Jongin, for some reason, darts away with guilt.

From how little they’ve talked, there hasn’t been a chance for him to mention it- though from how dance has taken over his life just like before, Jongin feels like it should be written all over him.

But the way Kyungsoo says it sounds so simple, like ballet is a hobby that Jongin took a quick break from, like it’s not the thing that’s meant to swallow up all of his time and energy, that should be engraved in everything he does- the only thing to define him by-

“Yeah, I’m- back to a full-time kind of thing,” Jongin murmurs, before he clears his throat, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“When did you start, again?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin can’t read any sort of emotion from his face or his voice.

“Just this week. I’m doing Monday to Saturday,” he says with a shrug.

“I see.”

“So, is that a good enough excuse?” he tries to joke, but Kyungsoo only frowns.

“Yes, I suppose,” he clips, before turning away to rest against the tree.

“And you’ll forgive me?” Jongin checks, head quirked to check Kyungsoo’s expression.

“Only this time,” he threatens, and Jongin snorts.

“Well, next time, you should let me know earlier if you’re coming to visit,” he points out.

“Well, next time, you shouldn’t sleep in so late,” Kyungsoo shoots back.

“If you tell me the night before, then I won’t,” Jongin murmurs, all the heat rushing to his cheeks from how Kyungsoo didn’t deny he might be back.

Kyungsoo only gives him a scoff in reply, and shyly, Jongin nudges Kyungsoo’s foot with his bare toe, not missing the way it makes Kyungsoo smirk.

Neither of them say anything else, but the silence is warm, the wind softly rustling through the leaves above them as Jongin’s heart soars even higher. Breathing in the light evening air, he leans back on his hands, letting his eyes fall shut with his head tilted to the fresh air.

The weather is almost perfect, right now, the shade of the tree stretched far in front of them and the whole world seemingly at peace. He’s missed this feeling- this ease that washed over him the moment that he saw Kyungsoo sitting here, and Jongin can’t keep the corners of his mouth from lifting when he realizes that they haven’t even properly greeted each other, yet.

“How was the trip here?” Jongin asks, peering over at the shadows that dance across Kyungsoo’s features.

“Bumpy,” he deadpans, and Jongin grins to himself. “But it wasn’t as bad as the first time.”

“And you got to meet Zitao?” The question has a grimace pulling at Kyungsoo’s face. “How’d it go?”

“Not well,” Kyungsoo states, before he sighs. “Things are progressing much faster than I expected.”

“What do you mean?” Jongin asks, leaning in closer. “Is that bad?”

“It could be,” Kyungsoo says cryptically. After a long pause, he continues. “Zitao was right in saying that the balance has been disrupted, but he still doesn’t understand why, or realize what he’s done by coming here.”

“But- but  _you_ know?” Jongin prompts, wanting to understand. It only draws another breath out of Kyungsoo, though, his eyes squinted shut. When he reopens them, he fixes Jongin in place with a serious look.

“You made me wait for hours, so now you have to help me unpack,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin drops his head, huffing out a light laugh.

Just like that, the conversation’s over, and Jongin knows better than to argue with it when Kyungsoo’s already started to move on. At his lead, Jongin forces himself off of the soft grass with a long groan.

“So, you’re staying the night?” he asks, stretching his arms out before matching Kyungsoo’s quick pace to get back inside. “How much stuff did you even need to bring for that?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t bother to answer either question, though if this buys Jongin more time together before Kyungsoo has to head back home, then he can’t complain. Jongin didn’t set himself an hour to leave, either, but he knows he won’t be able to stay forever.

Behind them, the sun has already started to drop low in the sky, now just brushing the surrounding houses and structures beyond Joonmyun’s white walls, and it won’t be long before it’s fully hidden.

Back in the living room, Sehun’s lounging across the couch, his show in the middle of some dramatic rain scene that Kyungsoo doesn’t even take a glance at. Briskly, he marches straight over to the stairwell, Jongin a step behind as they climb up the wooden boards, the small space brightened by the lights above them.

It vaguely crosses Jongin’s mind that he’s never seen the second floor of Joonmyun’s house, but there’s nothing special to it. The main room is made up of a few armchairs placed around a coffee table, with its glass doors leading straight onto the white balcony. From where he is, Jongin can steal a better view of the setting sunlight, of how the sky has turned pink and orange along the horizon’s edge.

Down the lone corridor, Kyungsoo has stopped to tap on the first door, both of them waiting with Jongin lingered at the side. The clock mounted on the opposite wall tells him that it’s almost six, and Jongin feels an ache twinge in his chest, cursing how he let the day get away from him so fast.

“Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo tries, knocking again on what must be his door.

Warily, Jongin takes a step back, not wanting to be too close if Chanyeol steps out. But only silence rings in his ears, the corridor filled with it, and Kyungsoo sighs before he leans in closer to the wood.

“Chanyeol, Sehun’s downstairs by himself,” he calls out gently.

Still nothing. Kyungsoo shares a quick glance with Jongin before he turns away, marching further down the hallway as Jongin hurries after him. As they step inside the second room, Jongin’s eyes turns to the sound of a lock clicking, and he catches a brief glimpse of Chanyeol’s tall, covered back walking away.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Kyungsoo says, stealing Jongin’s attention, again. “Joonmyun and Yixing are next to us.”

With a nod, Jongin gently closes the door behind them, shutting them in the bright space that he runs his eyes across. This bedroom has to be bigger than Jongin’s, and easily twice the size of Kyungsoo’s back home, but it looks barely lived in, with only basic pieces of furniture to fill it. Wide windows stretch ahead of them, letting in the evening light, while a plain double bed is neatly positioned against the feature wall. For one moment, Jongin’s faced with a moving screen of wood and leaves, but he only has to blink before it’s frozen back to normal, to a nice forest green color.

Shaking his head, Jongin rubs his eyes and settles himself on the edge of the mattress, sinking into the white covers.

“Is Yixing alright?” he murmurs, looking over to watch Kyungsoo smooth out the tiny creases on the other side of the bed.

“He fainted when Zitao left,” Kyungsoo says emptily, just like Sehun told him. “He’s conscious, now, but still weak. Joonmyun insisted that he stay here to rest, even though his boss wasn’t happy with the idea.” That must be the man parked outside, Jongin thinks.

“Doesn’t Yixing need to go to hospital or something?” he asks unsurely, but Kyungsoo only scoffs, bringing his old backpack up and laying it on the mattress.

“His team is worried about the rumors it might start,” Kyungsoo spits out, clearly angry. “They said if Yixing can’t work, then he has to be hidden here. It’s just lucky for them that there’s no doctor that can help.” Suddenly, Kyungsoo stills in his actions, his gaze kept down. “Yixing’s energy was already weak, and Zitao destroyed the last of it. Now, he needs to sleep and to heal.”

“But how- how did he-” Jongin gestures, not knowing how to phrase it. “Why?”

“Yixing managed to translate enough of what Zitao said before he was grabbed, again. We now know that Zitao was originally a farmer from 15th century China, and he’s become trapped in our time.” At Jongin’s snort, Kyungsoo looks up from refolding a T-shirt to furrow his eyebrows at him. “What? With the rest of the powers in our group, why is time travelling less likely?”

“I- Yeah, I guess,” Jongin admits, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“As Zitao grew up on his farm, he never understood why some days moved faster than others, and his parents couldn’t, either,” Kyungsoo explains. His voice comes out robotic, almost harsh, as if he’s being forced to read a bad novel word-for-word. “Every night, Zitao had recurring dreams of travelling to the mountains, where the Daoist monks could tell him the answers. But it was a ten day journey to the temple, and he knew he had to stay with his family in case of war.”

While Kyungsoo retells this, he begins to neatly arrange his shirts on top of one another, and Jongin feels his body freeze him place, not letting him do anything except listen, his mind lagging as he watches the pile of clothes build up.

“One day, their village was attacked by a gang of rebels, and his father was stabbed in the chest. As Zitao went to shield him, they were both transported forward in time, to Changsha in the spring of 2012. This is when Yixing first discovered his powers,” Kyungsoo carries on, still unpacking as Jongin only stares, spots flooding his vision every time he blinks.

“Strangers helped take his father to a nearby hospital, but he didn’t survive, and then Zitao was trapped alone in the present. After being taken in by an elderly woman, he made the trek to the Temple of the Five Immortals, where he’s lived ever since, far away from society. He spent the past few years studying wushu amongst the monks and living in peace, until just recently.”

Kyungsoo moves to place his shirts in the dark chest of drawers, his words growing more and more muffled, lost under the sounds of Jongin’s breaths falling shorter, of his blood rushing faster-

“Last Monday, as Zitao was meditating, he sensed a disturbance in the balance, something unlike anything he’d ever felt before. So he left the temple and travelled back to the city, where he took his first ever plane to meet us.”

Jongin’s thoughts are crashing into each other at full speed, now, beating loud on his skull, and he shakes his head with a jagged sigh, knowing that he’s meant to say something back even when none of it makes any sense to him- when all he can think about is-

“And you-” He pauses, clearing away the lump in his throat, the stray nerves eating at his stomach. Right now, he has to focus on this. “You think he’s telling the truth?”

“I know he is,” Kyungsoo states, not bothering to glance at Jongin as he begins to take out more clothes- shorts, pants, socks- enough for weeks- “I also know that he holds more power than any of us, even though he has no control or awareness of. His works differently from the others, it- somehow makes other energies more unstable. For Yixing, that was enough to make him collapse.” A deep frown mars Kyungsoo’s face, pausing his movements, before he lowers his voice. “The longer Zitao is around us, the more danger he puts us in. I told him to stay away.”

“So will he?” Jongin murmurs, finally tearing his gaze away, his eyes blurring too hot.

“I doubt it. He’s still near enough that I can feel him, but far enough that it won’t make your energies worse,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin just squeezes his eyes shut, barely able to hear over the sounds of fabrics rustling, of drawers sliding closed, of his heart throbbing. “It’s too late, though. He’s already had contact with all of you, and now, I don’t know what could happen next.” Kyungsoo lets out a small scoff before he speaks again, his next words darker. “‘One spark can start a grassland fire.’ That’s the proverb that Zitao warned us about, without realizing that he’s the spark who ran straight into the grasslands... Fire- it makes me worry about what might happen to Chanyeol, which is why I want him to stay with Sehun. He’s calmer when they’re together.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything else on the subject, instead continuing to pace around the room as Jongin keeps his head hung low. With the seconds that tick by, Jongin holds onto his breath, knuckles rubbing against his sore temples and his lungs scratched raw. A silence is hanging over the room, making the air thick- but Jongin is caged down with one stupid thought, so heavy it digs into his skin, piercing the muscle. He knows that he doesn’t have the time or the right to worry about it, not when Kyungsoo finally tried to explain everything and it had bleared right past him- but Jongin has no idea how to shut it up, and it doesn’t take much more pulling before he’s fallen into the ugly trap.

“How long are you staying?” he murmurs out. His voice is strained, but holds steady as he forces himself up to check Kyungsoo’s reaction. Except Kyungsoo’s back is turned to him, a familiar pencil case and sketchpad being placed on the small, wooden desk, and Jongin wishes he hadn’t asked.

“As long as I need to,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin only drops his head back down, his mind numb and cheeks burning.

That answer could mean anything, from a few days to a few weeks, maybe more than the three he’d spent with Jongin, and Jongin knows that it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t feel like this, but-

But knowing that Kyungsoo hadn’t even told him, that he’d gone straight to Joonmyun with his bag already packed- the thought has pain radiating from the pit of his chest, selfish and searing hot, his stomach twisted in knots of guilt-

“Jongin?”

Kyungsoo’s tone has finally softened, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, now. Slowly, Jongin looks up to meet Kyungsoo’s unsure gaze, and his heart catches in his throat. After a moment of stolen air, Kyungsoo darts his eyes away, worry curving the corners of his lips down. “I’m sorry... I feel like if I hadn’t left, this might not have happened.”

“Huh?” It takes a moment for Jongin to understand the weight behind Kyungsoo’s words, the regret scarring his expression, and when he does, it hurts like a blow to the ribs.

“No don’t-don’t worry, it’s fine,” Jongin rushes out, breathless as he forces on a fake smile.

Kyungsoo doesn’t seem convinced, though, and Jongin stops himself and swallows, shoving down any of his own emotions so he can try again. “Kyungsoo, you can’t blame yourself. This just- came out of nowhere.”

“Yes, it did. But if Zitao had grabbed me, instead, then Yixing wouldn’t be like this.” Kyungsoo sighs before he takes a seat against the dark headboard of the bed, his bag set aside. To face him better, Jongin swivels around, placing both feet on the mattress and tucking his chin on his knees, hanging on for what Kyungsoo says next. “There’s nothing I can do to help him, or anyone else, now. All we can do is wait and see what happens. I don’t know how long that will take, though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jongin murmurs, his words coming out shier than he wanted. “We’re just glad that you’re back.” It sounds too personal, too vulnerable, and Jongin’s ready to curl in on himself until he sees the way that it makes Kyungsoo’s features smooth over.

“I am, too,” Kyungsoo assures. His gentle eyes meet Jongin’s, again, and Jongin feels his heart settle back into place, his cheeks blooming red when he finally darts his gaze away.

This is more important- having Kyungsoo here, even if it’s further away than before- and Jongin can feel something deep in his chest, something small, start to stitch back together.

“I was having doubts about coming back, this morning,” Kyungsoo confesses a moment later. “But, in the end, the trees convinced me.”

“How did they do that?” Jongin wonders, and at Kyungsoo’s bemused smile, he feels his own grow wider.

“They’ve been extra annoying lately, so it’s a relief to get away from them.” Biting on his lip, Jongin holds back a chuckle, not wanting to interrupt. “But now, they’re saying that I was only wasting my time with them,” Kyungsoo gripes, almost disbelieving, before he lets out a huff. “Those ungrateful brats.”

“Weren’t they just joking?” Jongin asks, and Kyungsoo shoots his a blank look.

“No, not at all,” he clips. “A human life is nothing compared to the life of most trees. All of the ones in that forest have been alive since far before my grandparents moved to our farm, and they’ll survive for centuries after we’re gone.” Kyungsoo says this with pride, but in that next moment, he hesitates. “For them, there’s no need for humans, even though they do find us fascinating… We may not live as long, but we feel the world around us in a different way. We feel- more, on levels that I can’t explain to them, and those feelings never stop growing. Not even when we want them to.”

As it’s quiet, as Kyungsoo’s frown is turned to his lap, Jongin takes the chance to shift a bit closer to him, so little that he doesn’t seem to notice.

“They were right all along,” Kyungsoo admits, tone empty. “Trees are forever confined to the same place, but we… We can move forward. Our lives always try to move forward, and when I think of it that way, it doesn’t make sense to stay by their side.”

Unsure of what to say, Jongin just nods, even if he knows Kyungsoo can’t see. The silence is calm, Kyungsoo’s expression unreadable, and Jongin curls his hands tighter around his legs. For a brief moment, he wonders what would happen if he reached out to him, if Kyungsoo would only brush him off, or if this is the one moment where he’d let Jongin rest a palm down on his. But Jongin doesn’t try, and instead, he quietly clears his throat.

“Are you... is that okay with you?”

“We’ll see,” Kyungsoo muses. “They’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Those ungrateful brats,” Jongin repeats, and Kyungsoo cracks a small smile.

“But for now, I’ll stay here until I’m sure that everyone’s safe,” he assures, looking over at him with something that Jongin could almost swear is affection, his heart fluttering like it must be.

A gentle knocking steals Kyungsoo’s gaze away, and Jongin can’t help but feel his stomach drop with disappointment, whatever he would have said next falling with it.

“Come in,” Kyungsoo calls out softly, just as Jongin shuffles around to see Joonmyun open the door.

“Oh, Jongin, I didn’t know you came over,” Joonmyun says quietly, and Jongin bows his head is greeting. “How have you been?”

“I’m good, how are you? How- how’s Yixing?” Jongin asks cautiously.

With a short sigh, Joonmyun tries to offer them a smile, though it looks worn out. “He’s been in and out of consciousness. Right now, he’s fallen back asleep, but he looks settled. I’m going to insist to his managers that he stay the night.”

“Good,” Kyungsoo states, his tone curt. “He needs a few days to rest.”

“Well, I’ll try my luck with one, to start,” Joonmyun jokes, before his face falls slightly. “I’m sorry, Kyungsoo, I don’t think I’ll be able to cook for us, after all. I seem to have lost track of the time, tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Kyungsoo assures.

“Wait- what time is it?” Jongin asks in a rush.

His lungs lurching, Jongin throws a quick glance to the outside window, and he has no idea when, but- the light has dimmed to a dull grey without him noticing, casting the whole world in pale shadows-

“Pardon me, what did you say?” Joonmyun asks behind him.

“You’ll have to speak louder,” Kyungsoo explains to Jongin, who takes a second to meet his eyes, the room now barely bright enough to see each other in, all the color drained away.

“I just- I asked what time it was,” Jongin repeats as he sits straight, again, facing forward.

“Oh, it’s seven thirty,” Joonmyun answers, and Jongin nods, his vision blurring out of focus, his chest wrung uncomfortably tight- “If you want to come downstairs, I thought we could all decide on takeout, together.”

“We’ll be down soon,” Kyungsoo assures, and all Jongin can hear afterwards is the gentle shutting of the door.

Heart pounding in his ears, Jongin sucks in a shallow breath. The entire day has disappeared on him, and he can feel a panic starting to set in, the cells under his skin already crawling faster-

“Jongin? What’s wrong?” Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin avoids turning around, instead shaking his head.

“It’s nothing, I just- didn’t know it was so late,” he insists, squeezing his eyes shut as he runs a hand through his hair. “It just surprised me a bit.”

“You can stay over, if you want,” Kyungsoo suggests, and at that, Jongin does look over his shoulder at him. But Kyungsoo’s eyes are fixed on the window and the lifeless world outside, the sun now set and the dark shielding his face.

“Do you want me to?” Jongin tries, hesitant.

“Yes. But you’re sleeping on the floor,” Kyungsoo deadpans, pulling a strangled laugh from Jongin’s throat. “And my alarm is set for 7AM.”

“That’s-”  _too early_ , Jongin was about to say, before he stops himself, the smile on his face painfully sliding off.

Tomorrow is Monday, the start of his next week at the studio, and all of Jongin’s ballet stuff is still on the floor at home. So if he’s meant to get in early enough to stretch, then Jongin has to be at the building at 8:45AM, which means he’d need to leave his house at 8:25AM, but it takes at least half an hour to get there from Joonmyun’s house, even if the buses come straight after one another, so Jongin would be waking up at-

The numbers make his head spin, nothing echoing clear in the mess, louder than the grating of Hyukjae’s words-  _no more cut sessions and no more excuses._ Jongin’s had enough trouble waking up at 8AM these mornings, but he already knows that it’ll be so much harder if leaving means leaving Kyungsoo for another six days of ballet- for the eight hours of non-stop training, the evenings of more exercises and not enough sleep, while every spare second means running through combinations and planning out goals, and whatever time’s left over is just spent being too exhausted to feel at all-

Jongin’s been there before, and even when he wanted it more than anything else, it was still hard. But that was before Kyungsoo, and maybe Jongin could have risked it, back then, but he knows he can’t afford to anymore. Not when he’ll just want to stay.

“I…” Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, flooding himself in white light, his chest hollow and panging. “I’m sorry, I forgot I have to be at practice early, tomorrow.”

“That’s alright,” Kyungsoo says gently, and Jongin lets himself take in an uneven breath. “Maybe the next time you’re free.”

The next time- which isn’t tomorrow, or the day after, or in the next two months, or at any time during the year-long contract, or-  _god_ , why did Jongin have to restart  _now_ , before he could have known? Jaw clenched tight, Jongin just wishes he had more time- just one day to properly be with Kyungsoo, to say goodbye before he gives himself up-

But he doesn’t.

In silence, the two of them march back downstairs a moment later. Chanyeol’s nowhere in sight, while Joonmyun and Sehun are chatting at the kitchen counter, pouring over menus for fried meat and Chinese- both things that stray too far from Jongin’s planned meal of rice, chicken breast and vegetables that he has sitting in his fridge. With a forced smile, he tells Kyungsoo that he’ll eat at home, instead, and Kyungsoo barely has the chance to reply before he’s being dragged away.

As Kyungsoo slips straight into their conversation, Sehun hauling him to close the circle around the bench, no one seems to notice as Jongin stands there, alone. Their words all blur together into a low-pitched ringing, leaving Jongin deaf to everything else, only able to watch from the outside in.

He should go- he knows he should, even with the goodbye stuck in his throat and his body weighing unbearably heavy- he can’t let himself hang around, not when he’s only got a few hours of the day left. But just as Jongin’s about to give up, he steals one last look behind him, at Kyungsoo that’s fitting in so seamlessly with the others, both of the smiles aimed his way magnified under the lighting, and it makes Jongin think that maybe it won’t matter if he’s not around for Kyungsoo, anyway.

His heart silently falling, breaking, Jongin lowers his head and turns back around. His steps linger on the way out, over scattered shards of glass as he walks further and further into the shadowed corridor.

It should be easier like this, if he just lets go.

 

 


	9. Acte II - 8. Danse des flammes: Allegro agitato

 

 

 

☯

 

 

In that next week, ballet is what surges up to grab him, and Jongin lets himself drown, falling into the depths head-first.

Time moves quickly when there’s nowhere else for it to go. The hours and days have started to fade together, into one long, practice, always with the same piano track backing, the same studio lights blaring, the same twinges and aches.

Before Jongin knows it, he’s already halfway through Friday, his body only held together by coarse rope, mind running over and over the same unwanted thoughts, every part of him desperate for the chance to rest.

But he’s not going to let himself, not until he’s earnt it.

“Alright, let’s move on, now,” Hyukjae states, pausing the music on the last count after Jongin’s finished his final turn. In the new quiet, Hyukjae’s steps are the only things resounding in the open air, no more said on Jongin’s third repeat of the same sequence.

There have been more critiques today than yesterday, though Hyukjae hasn’t started to lose his patience, yet. With the exception of the last few hours, they’ve been spending less and less time going over each combination, even as Hyukjae makes each one more intricate than the last, rapidly building up to the same standard as a group audition.

Jongin can see improvements, too, in his technique, in his movements, in his endurance. They’re small, not enough for him to feel proud, yet, but things have been going forward, kept on track, and he’s just hoping that he can fake his way through the rest of the day to keep it like that.

“Pay attention to this next one,” Hyukjae warns.

Barely out of breath, Jongin just nods once before marching back to the centre, standing behind Hyukjae with both hands clasped behind his back on habit.

“So, we’ve got _pre_ _paration,_ into fourth position. Then _tour attitude, plie_ _. Pique_ _croise_ and _glissade_ to second _-”_

At some point, Jongin’s gaze starts to slip, again, eyes glazing over Hyukjae’s movements in the mirror in front of them, a lazy copy of what Jongin is meant to perform next.

 _“- releve_ _attitude_ , with _renverse_. _Pas de bourre_ , and then stay. _De_ _boules_ for three counts... into a finishing _plie_ _,_ and then, you turn.” Effortlessly, Hyukjae drops both arms and turns back to face Jongin, making him jolt upright. “Do you want me to repeat it?”

“No- no, I’ve got it,” Jongin assures, blinking to focus on his expression, to erase the image that’s been stuck to his mind.

“You better,” Hyukjae states, and he simply steps to the side to watch.

It should be alright- the first half is the same as the last one Jongin did, with a few additions he should remember-

“Starting in four beats. And one-”

The piano restarts, jarred on the same note for too long, and Jongin can’t shake the heightened pitch out of his head before [ he has to dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EVMjnHFg-w&feature=youtu.be&t=44m58s). Jongin’s barely snapped into third position, shoulders back and chin raised before Hyukjae’s counting, numbers pounding, and Jongin dips his knees slightly.

Kicking one leg to the side, his reflection guiding him to a perfect right angle and the opposite arm following, Jongin can feel the gravity bear down on his waist as soon as he’s arching onto his bad foot, his fall coming down with a flat note. Quickly, he turns into a spin, eyes boring into the mirror and his hands floated above him. Jongin holds his balance until the last second where he has to point his back leg up, pain pulsing up his thigh, again.

With a short inhale, Jongin steadies himself on the ground and steps once, his other leg following through, cast up and back down as softly as he can. To glide over, Jongin curves his whole body to the side, foot shot up to point at the ceiling, lingering for a count before he crosses back to the floor. He’s lost the music- only trusting the shouts of six- seven- as he turns backwards, one leg extended behind him and his hip flaring red-

Jongin has to grit his teeth and smooth his expression in the mirror when he drops his leg back down, waist still throbbing even as he hovers his arms out to the sides. There’s half a beat of pause- blurred faces flashing-

He manages to catch himself at the last second, tucking his hands to his core and rushing through a succession of brisk spins across the floor. Finally, his heart already sunken to the bottom of his chest, Jongin slides to a stop, foot pointed out and arms struck in a finishing _pli_ _é._

His breaths are tumbling over each other, the piano filtering back into his ears and out of rhythm with his hammering pulse. Dragging his limbs down, Jongin lets his head hang, not daring to face Hyukjae yet.

“I’m sorry, I forgot-”

“After the _releve_ _attitude_ , yeah. How did you manage to miss one damn pose?” Hyukjae clips. “And your hip was turned out for most of it.”

Jongin only nods stiffly, waiting for the next instruction. Instead, though, Hyukjae pauses the music, the notes stopping with a harsh bang, and Jongin forces himself to look up. Leaned against the mirror, only a few metres away, Hyukjae is examining him with cold eyes.  

“I’ll get it right this time,” Jongin says, any confidence buried underneath the bitter embarrassment.

“You’ve lost your focus from this morning,” Hyukjae states, and the comment sends a sharp jolt to Jongin’s chest. But Hyukjae’s smirking at him, one corner of his mouth lifted in what should look amused instead of just threatening. “So what happened at lunch? Did you and your girlfriend have a fight over the phone?”

Stiffly, Jongin breaks eye contact, murky spots darted down to the wooden floor. It’s nothing like that, but the image flickers by him again, fire against his vision- Sehun grinning at his phone camera with Kyungsoo in the back, his face scrunched up in concentration on something else. _Overwatch tournament, come join!!! Im thrashing soo lol you wont be the worst for once’_ was the text attached, every word from Sehun burned into Jongin’s memory.

It’s all Jongin’s gotten since he last saw Kyungsoo on Sunday, and he doesn’t know why he kept any hope that things would be different with Kyungsoo back in town. Just like before, it’s only white noise between them, only disappointment whenever Jongin checks his phone, and that should be enough to stop him from imagining the selfish thoughts that keep him up at night- that Kyungsoo will want to see him, that Kyungsoo can somehow fix this- that he’ll know to break Jongin out of this endless loop without Jongin needing to ask-

Every morning, though, Jongin wakes up having barely slept, with nothing except a racing heart and a hollow chest, and he repeats through another day.

But it’s only a fantasy- a stupid, selfish fantasy, and Jongin forces himself to remember the truth, the bitterness of it creeping along the nerves in his spine, making static crackle in his mind. Things are easier this way, if they aren’t talking, so that Jongin doesn’t think he has any other choice. The more distance he puts between him and the rest of the world, the better he can train, just like he did before. The more he trains, the higher his chance of moving forward, moving on with his life, just like Kyungsoo’s started to, and Jongin finishes on that thought for the hundredth time, forcing himself to shake his head.

“No, there’s no girlfriend,” Jongin says, too quietly.

“So it’s a one-sided love?” Hyukjae barks out a short laugh, and Jongin looks up to see him snap straight back to a neutral expression. “You can leave that at home just like the rest of us,” his coach quips. “C’mon, let’s get back to work.”

Briskly, Hyukjae turns away to march towards the sound system, and Jongin uses the silence to wipe across his eyes, shoving down the stray aches in his chest.

“You’ve had enough time to warm up,” Hyukjae states from across the room, his hand lazily flicking through his iPod. “Now, I'm gonna get you to show me your old routine. I want you to dance _Sibelius_ from beginning to end, as many times as it takes to get it right. Try and remind yourself of what _real_ focus is like, since you actually had it once.”

“Wait, but, that’s-” Jongin stops, the wind knocked out of him by the dark look Hyukjae sends his way.

“ _Too hard_? Well, that’s the level I expect you to have reached by next week. Jongin- don’t give me that look. You slacked off for two months, not two years, so it shouldn’t be taking you this long to get back to where you were for the showcase.”

“But we- I mean,” Jongin breathes out, blood starting to rush. “It took _six months_ to-”

“Yeah, six months of practice, and you wouldn’t know it from your performance that night,” Hyukjae states, the words sharp enough to cut into Jongin’s heart. “There’s no way you’d have made it into Juilliard with that, and the competition for this season will be just as rough. You’d have to be damn lucky to pull that shit and get through, but we don’t rely on luck here, do we? If you really want this, then I need you to push it way harder. Now,” Hyukjae’s voice is impatient, his order final. “Get into position.”

But Jongin can’t do anything except stand there. His whole chest is shaking, the air ripped from his throat as the ground blurs and swims beneath him-

“Jongin,” Hyukjae calls out, the warning ringing louder than Jongin’s deafening pulse, just like Hyukjae’s scoff afterwards does. “Spare me the attitude, please. I’m sick of you just- clamming up whenever you hear something you don’t like. It’s not doing you any favors, alright? This isn’t the behaviour we’re expecting from a professional dancer, and you better believe that most directors aren’t gonna stand for it. Look- do you wanna know why you didn’t get in?”

 _No_ \- _god, no_ , Jongin wants to scream out, but his voice- his heart- everything is lost in the pain, the white-hot flames burning up his body-

“Too bad, because you need to hear this, you need to _learn._ Sure, if anyone looks at you, they can see that you’re a good dancer,” Hyukjae starts, too fast, too harsh- “You’ve got- well, you _had_ the drive-”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jongin can only beg his power to make him disappear, to take him as far away as possible-

“- you had the focus, the perseverance, and you worked your way up in the skills.”

But there’s nowhere else to go, and each of Hyukjae’s words beat down hard, branding into his skull and wrenching him to pieces-

“You’re good, no doubt, but if you’re trying to get into the _top twelve_ of the world, then you better hope your performance is fucking perfect, and yours- yours was nowhere near that, not with-”

His lungs throbbing painfully hard, Jongin staggers in a gasp, his eyes flying open to find all the lights turned off, this studio so large that the opposite wall is shrouded in pitch black. Only one small beam of white flashes across the stillness, everything else left quiet except for the echo of footsteps-

But when Jongin looks again, all he sees is Hyukjae’s back turned to him, his paces too fast to match up with the ones sounding in Jongin’s mind.

“- just all those small technical things that I kept telling you about, over and over,” Hyukjae cuts back in with, throwing himself backwards and forwards. “Yeah, I know you were nervous and all, but that doesn’t count for _shit_ . We’re meant to _deliver_ under pressure, and you made too many mistakes. It didn’t matter that the scout didn’t say anything, I knew that he would have seen them. It’s like I always tell you guys-”

“Wait, you- what do you mean the scout-” Jongin tries to breathe out, his mind muffled and lagging too far behind, only repeating the part that jars in his ears like a broken track-

But the way Hyukjae suddenly stops to face the wall, both hands placed on his hips as he lowers his head and sighs- that should be enough to tell Jongin.

“Jongin, I’ve been in the business twenty years,” he says, slowly, measured out.

Everything else falls deathly silent in the wake of Hyukjae’s tired voice, Jongin’s heartbeat stopped dead so that only the words ring out crystal clear.

“It was obvious you weren’t gonna get that scholarship,” Hyukjae states. “I didn’t have to be a scout to figure it out.”

“So... you lied?” Jongin asks quietly, voice barely shaking and his gaze fixed down.

“I had to,” Hyukjae shoots back, rounding on him, but Jongin firmly stands his ground. “Because I could tell you’d pull some shit like _this_ , and I wanted to get it over and done with. I’ve seen it all before, y’know- pre-pros who get too caught up on one goal, and when that fucks up, they just leave. I knew that you’d do that, that you’d waste all of those months of hard work when SeoulArts would have grabbed you up the second you applied-”

Fists curled tight against his thighs, Jongin’s blood is pulsing with new venom, spraying and hissing against the fire coursing through his veins. This is so _fucked up_ \- all of it, and Jongin could almost laugh if it weren’t for how his head's splitting in two, his whole chest up in searing hot flames-

“You can look down on SeoulArts all you want, but Kim Kimin’s success speaks for itself. You have that potential, Jongin, and I want to take you there, but you aren’t _fucking cooperating_ ,” Hyukjae exclaims, and Jongin is fading- the world blacking out except for his voice- “ _This_? This won’t be enough. You have your own time to go over the basics. When you’re in here, you have to shut up, listen, push yourself way past what you think is your limit-”

Desperate for air, Jongin can barely keep his legs steady in his rush to escape, everything around him blurred except for the way out-

“What, so that’s it?” Hyukjae calls after him, just as Jongin crashes straight into the door, freezing him against the wood with his heart cracked open in his throat. “I’m scaring you, so you’re just gonna run away, again?”

Jongin stays there for a beat, his head faint, his chest panging with every missed breath as he waits for the last knife to be pierced through his ribs.

But it never comes, not even when Jongin’s finally managed to gasp cold splinters back into his lungs, to feel how hard his whole body is trembling.

Hyukjae still doesn’t say another word, the silence crushing down on Jongin, leaving him paralyzed. Hyukjae doesn’t need to, though- not when Jongin knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’ll be proving if he steps out of this room for even a second.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his heart aching as it sinks back down, all the way to the bottom of his chest- Jongin closes his eyes, lowers his head, and he lets the rest go. 

 

 

### ✴

 

 

Kyungsoo sends him a text late on Saturday night, when Jongin’s buried deep underneath the sheets, his music turned the whole way up in a desperate attempt to block out everything else.

With a sudden flash across the empty space, Jongin’s eyes are flying open to see the whole world around him lit up in a white blaze- bright enough to blind him. As the shadows creep back out, there’s only his phone glowing in his tight grip, and Jongin shudders, bringing it up to his stinging eyes. The letters dance along the darkness until his vision clears, and what he sees leaves behind only shards in his heart.

Shutting it off, Jongin takes a moment to look away, back to the sea of black and flickering dots that he’s tried to drown himself in. With a shallow breath in, his pulse racing away from him, Jongin forces himself to click on Kyungsoo’s message.

 _Are you coming over tomorrow? We have a new person to meet._ **Sent: 22:31**

A pang aches low in his chest, and Jongin has to push his phone away, the other texts from Sehun and Taemin left unread. Flipping onto his side, Jongin shoves his face into the pillow, hands wrung tight in his sheets, the air burning and impossible to swallow down. He doesn’t let himself think over it, _Echoes of Silence_ blaring so loud that he couldn’t- but any chance of sleeping has fallen to pieces.

It must have been already been hours that Jongin’s spent trying to, having hidden away as soon as he came home. His body was worn down enough that he’d expected it to be easy, but the thrashing of his pulse hasn’t quieted since he first woke up that morning, his mind still alight with the words, every letter burned red against the static, and Jongin is more wide awake than ever.

He knows he has to reply, somehow, that he should be telling Kyungsoo he’s already busy. It’s not a lie, even if Jongin does end up cancelling his plans to meet Taemin at the gym, like he’s meant to. Sunday is supposed to be his time to relax, to lay out his plans for the week ahead, to redefine goals like mastering _Sibelius_ by Wednesday, putting work into his turnout, an emphasis on arm exercises- and everything else Hyukjae had shoved down on him as he left that evening.

By now, after a whole week, Jongin should have convinced himself that it’s too late, that he’s missed his chance and he’s ready to give up on those ideas. He should have, but- it’s _Kyungsoo_ that’s asking to see him, and Jongin can’t say no, not when he hasn’t made any progress on the one goal he can’t train himself on, not when he’s still just as weak as before, way too weak to let go of that piece of his heart yet.

So after a night of jolting in and out of sleep, the morning spent lying awake and pretending to rest as the nerves build up inside him, Jongin finally leaves his house at midday.

It’s a short ride over, the weather mild on his skin, and today, there’s no car ominously parked in Joonmyun’s driveway. But Jongin still can’t breathe easily, not when across the horizon, storm clouds have started to roll in, the air pressing down on his lungs, heavy with guilt. For a moment, Jongin stops by the door to watch as the sky is taken over by grey, to hear the wind start to hiss louder, and it sets Jongin’s whole body on edge, as if they’re mocking him for being here. With a shake of his head, Jongin steps inside, anyway, where the smells of warm food and the quiet chatter only have his stomach twisting in more knots, the warning settling deeper.

The table is already set, the food being laid out as he finds his way to the others. Sehun and Joonmyun wave and smile at him in greeting, just when Jongin notes that there’s no Jongdae or new guy, yet, and no sign of Yixing still staying around. There’s only the four of them, already settling into their already-decided seats and leaving Jongin to stand alone at the edge.

Hesitantly, Jongin moves over to take the last free space by Kyungsoo, who hardly gives a nod to Jongin’s murmured hello. The dread climbing up his ribcage, he can hear everyone around him start to eat, metal clinking against porcelain, and Jongin tries one more time, a small ‘how are you?’ that only gets him back one word in reply. Kyungsoo doesn’t even spare him a glance, and, looking away, a hollow ache sinks down Jongin’s chest, his mind left wondering why Kyungsoo asked him to come at all.

The two of them are silent throughout lunch, Sehun the most animated as he rambles on about some new article he read on time relativity, with Joonmyun asking him to repeat the occasional sentence. Everything is white noise to Jongin, anyway, his ears and vision blurred as he focuses on swallowing past the lump in his throat, barely able to pick through his half-filled bowl of eel and _japchae_.

It feels like no time has washed over him before Chanyeol’s standing, chair squeaking and dragging Jongin’s attention up to watch. With a weak bow, his eyes avoiding Jongin’s, Chanyeol steps aside wordlessly, his place left clean as he fades into the house.

“Chanyeol hasn’t been eating much lately,” Joonmyun explains to Jongin, who has to blink until the soft words ring clear in his mind.

“Oh- is he alright?” Jongin mumbles, casting his gaze back down.

“His appetite’s gone way off,” Sehun sighs out from across the table. “And just when he was starting to put some weight back on.”

“It can’t be helped,” Kyungsoo states curtly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jongin steals a glance at him. Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to notice, though, his glasses slipped low on his nose and his eyes fixed on his food.

“But, can we all appreciate how outgoing he’s been these days?” Sehun insists, his voice bursting with pride. “Like even today, when he was feeling sick, he still offered to cook with us.”

“Yes. He steamed the lettuce that he was meant to be washing,” Kyungsoo adds on, pulling a short huff from Jongin.

“Well- whatever, that still counts,” Sehun argues.

“It was much more successful than your rice,” Kyungsoo states.

Stifling another chuckle, Jongin grins over at Kyungsoo. But he’s still refusing to meet Jongin’s stare, or to even give him any notice at all. Slowly, Jongin feels his smile cave in, and he awkwardly coughs before sinking back in his chair, his chest scraped hollow.

“The others should be arriving, soon,” Joonmyun says gently, maybe to him. Jongin doesn’t bother to nod, just focused on scraping together his food.

“Yeah, Jongdae said they’d be here by two o’clock,” Sehun mumbles out through a mouthful. “That should be like… Four minutes, right? Maybe less?”

“I’ll start cleaning the kitchen,” Kyungsoo states, pushing his chair back with a light groan of wood. “Thank you for the meal.”

“But.. You cooked most of it,” Sehun says in confusion.

As Kyungsoo simply bows and leaves the room, Jongin keeps his eyes firmly fixed away. He finishes the rest of his meal in silence, only tuning in to small fragments of how Yixing left Seoul the day before, how he headed straight back into work when he could barely walk straight. For some reason, Jongin feels a small stab of jealousy in his gut.

The bowls and chopsticks clatter as the table is cleared, all the washing placed at Kyungsoo’s side while Joonmyun easily slips into the role of drying, like it’s an old habit between them. There’s no room for Jongin to do anything except take a seat on the couches near Sehun, his hands stuffed under his thighs and head throbbing from the lapping of water nearby. The clock hung by the hallway is already ticking past two o’clock, its black numbers swimming in Jongin’s vision, and he’s left alone in the empty space as Sehun runs up to grab Chanyeol.

A moment later, footsteps from the stairwell pound loud in Jongin’s ears, making him wince as they grow closer and harsher. Even as Sehun is sitting down on the opposite couch, Chanyeol by his side and quickly drawing in on himself, Jongin has to wait for the echoing thud to stop.

“- you excited to meet Baekhyun, dude?” Sehun asks. The question is directed at Jongin and blow away most of the fog, only a dull heartbeat lingering at the base of Jongin’s throat.

“Yeah, uh- I guess,” he murmurs, before clearing his voice.

“I bet he’ll be like a Jongdae 2.0,” Sehun muses, kicking both legs out and settling into the leather.

As Jongin’s eyes glaze over his actions, words scattering in his mind- a sudden jolt runs down his spine. In the edge of his vision- he swears that he catches Chanyeol glaring at him- dark enough that Jongin’s gaze shifts back up. But Chanyeol is only hunched over, his face hidden under his messy fringe, and Jongin blinks, sinking down into the cushions.

“- the two of them have been hanging out, like, all week, apparently,” Sehun carries on. “Jongdae even took him along to his gig last night. I mean, I got invited too, but we were already planning to have hot pot here- which is _way_ better than soju shots at the SNU bar-”

Silently, Joonmyun comes into view, Jongin’s stare trailing after him as he goes to take a seat on his own.

“Hey, perfect timing,” Sehun jokes, and Jongin must have missed the knocking, but Joonmyun is suddenly moving in reverse, having barely sat down before he and Sehun are standing up together. “They’re only, like, five minutes late by our time. Are you pumped for this, Kyungsoo?”

Eyes flicking over, Jongin catches the back of Kyungsoo’s head as he marches straight past all of them. Without a word, the glass door to the backyard is slammed open and shut, and Kyungsoo disappears from sight.

“Uh- guess that’s a no,” Sehun trails off with, while Jongin’s gaze is still locked on where he left. “Alright, let’s go. You’re coming, right, Jongin?”

“Huh?” Jongin’s eyes flash between Sehun and Joonmyun as they start to leave, his mind reeling, thoughts drawing up blank. He has no idea what he’s meant to do, who he should follow, just wondering what if-

In a split second, Jongin’s up, too, legs carrying him to the back door and after Kyungsoo before he’s even decided.

The wind is what hits him, first, knocking the breath from Jongin’s chest as soon as he’s out in the sunlight. Grimacing, he shakes the hair out of his eyes and presses forward, making a grab for the white curtains and pulling them back against the resistance. But Kyungsoo’s already gotten sucked into the shadows of the forest, the branches swooped down to him threateningly, claws ready to grab his small figure-

With a shake of his head, Jongin has to blink to bring back the clouds hung over the sun, to find Kyungsoo safely standing at the base of the tree. He’s facing away, head tilted up and both hands placed along the thin, bent trunk, and even though Jongin’s mind has cleared a path between the two of them- he doesn’t know how to cross it.

Stopped in his tracks, heart pounding in his throat and hot air rushing against his skin, Jongin aches like they couldn’t be further apart. As he casts his gaze down, squinting his eyes closed from the stinging, Jongin is frozen still, not knowing where to go.

“Something’s not right,” Kyungsoo states suddenly.

His words are almost lost amongst the deep howl of the wind, the rustling through the branches, the flapping of the sheets- but it’s enough that Jongin knows he’s allowed to stay, at least for now.

With his fists clutched at his sides, he walks the last few steps to stand by Kyungsoo, lingering just far back enough that he can see the frown that scars Kyungsoo’s features.

“Even the plants can feel it,” Kyungsoo says darkly.

Following Kyungsoo’s stare, Jongin takes a look at the branches above them, dipped just low enough that Jongin could reach up and still one against the harsh thrashing.

“What’s happening?” Jongin tries, turning to Kyungsoo again, who only shakes his head, hair rushed back from the breeze.

“There’s a negative energy here. It’s... pulling everything down.” Almost on cue, Jongin hears a rumble from nearby, long and threatening above the wind’s hissing.

“Is- is it from Baek-”

“I just don’t understand how this could have happened,” Kyungsoo rushes out, gaze thrown back to him and tugging at Jongin’s heart, the earth shifting with it. “This is bigger than what Zitao did, this is-”

“Hey- it’s okay,” Jongin insists, a sudden jolt in the ground making him trip forward, both hands coming up on instinct when he crashes into Kyungsoo’s back.

Over his shoulder, Kyungsoo looks up at him, his eyes wide and scared, and Jongin instantly breaks contact, their faces too close for his chest to bear. Steadying himself against the tree trunk, Jongin pushes himself back so that they’re no longer touching. His balance is stable on the grass, the tremor over just as fast as it started, and Jongin inhales, his lungs still caught in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Kyungsoo asks, turning around to face him urgently, and Jongin rushes to nod.

“Yeah- are you?”

But Kyungsoo doesn’t answer, instead closing his eyes as thunder rips overhead, and Jongin looks around just as the rain starts to come down, crackling and spitting white streaks across the backyard.

“Come closer,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin doesn’t hesitate.  

Pressing shoulder to shoulder with Kyungsoo, his skin scratching against the bark, Jongin ducks for cover with him. Around them, the water only beats down harder, the colors fading from Jongin’s view. Underneath the shelter, they’re trapped in the middle of it all, a veil of grey hiding them from the rest of the world, but Jongin is kept dry by the branches above them, only stray drops managing to hit his arm.

“Shouldn’t we get inside?” Jongin asks, having to yell to hear himself over the thick coating of noise.

“You can go,” Kyungsoo states. The next clap of thunder is enough to deafen them, Kyungsoo keeping his expression down and hidden as Jongin’s vision flickers white. “I want to stay with the plants a bit longer.”

But Kyungsoo doesn’t push him away, and Jongin doesn’t make any move to leave, either. Swallowing thickly, he inches over. Kyungsoo lets him close the gap between them just a little bit more, so that Kyungsoo’s back is resting against Jongin’s pounding chest and their heads hover close together. Like this, if Jongin wanted to, he could easily dip down to touch his nose to Kyungsoo’s hair, to breathe in the smell of fresh flowers better- but he won’t.

“I’ll stay, too, then,” he says gently, quietly, his stare lingering and his chest yearning.

As they stand there, tightly held together, Jongin watches how the rain falls, sprinting down in diagonal lines from the harsh winds. Even in the downpour surrounding them, the air is hot in Jongin’s throat, and he can feel the warmth from Kyungsoo’s body radiate all the way up to his cheeks. But with the sweat sticking to Jongin’s forehead and his pulse hammering through his chest, he’s still happy, happier than he’s been in a while, feeling almost as if things might be better. He has to push that thought down, though- not wanting it to leap ahead of him.

For now, Jongin just knows that he wouldn’t mind how long they were left out here, even if the skies didn’t clear.

“I wish we had an umbrella,” Jongin jokes loudly, trying to shake off the water that drips down his free arm, the other squished behind Kyungsoo too tightly for Jongin to move it.

Kyungsoo doesn’t reply, though, and after a moment, Jongin leans over to try and catch a glimpse of his face.

“They’re still in pain,” Kyungsoo states.

“Huh?” It’s too hard to hear over the sounds of the storm, the crashing and beating louder than ever, and Kyungsoo twists around to look up at Jongin.

“The tree. This is hurting them,” he shouts, his voice strained.

“Well, can-can we do anything?” His face twisted with worry, Kyungsoo only shakes his head, and Jongin’s heart breaks for him. “Are there painkillers for trees?” he asks seriously, making Kyungsoo puff out a short laugh.

Gnawing on his lip, Jongin tilts back to stare at the branches shaking above them, before he tentatively shuffles over. It’s not the best idea, but if he can at least make Kyungsoo smile again, then it’s worth embarrassing himself- or that’s what Jongin tells himself as he wraps both his arms around the sides of the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo calls out, his eyes narrowed up at him.

“Hugging her so that she feels better!” Jongin shouts, ignoring how uncomfortably he has to bend backwards to fit himself around the damp bark.

“Hey, I already told you that trees don’t have genders. Don’t you listen?” Kyungsoo exclaims, but Jongin can see him fighting off the smallest smile. If Jongin looks up, again, he can catch the glimmer of a sunnier memory, of bright green leaves and blue skies peeking through the gaps in between. “- and, besides, trees don’t need hugs.”

“When did they say that?” Jongin challenges, catching himself back in the present.

“They don’t have to when it’s obvious,” Kyungsoo yells in exasperation, Jongin grinning as Kyungsoo’s hands come up to pry him off the wood.

“Well, you’re wrong, again. She says that everyone needs hugs,” Jongin shoots down with a fake pout, only tightening his grip on the bark.

“Then hug me and stop making yourself look like an idiot,” Kyungsoo bites out, and at that, Jongin finally lets him pull his arm off.

With a loud sigh, Kyungsoo tugs them back together, and Jongin can feels the corners of his mouth quirking up as Kyungsoo flips around and drops his hold impatiently.

“Did I help at all?” Jongin tries, leaning down to speak near Kyungsoo’s reddened ear.

“No. But they appreciate that you tried,” Kyungsoo deadpans.

“It sounds like you’re joking,” Jongin laughs out, forehead accidentally bumping against Kyungsoo’s hair as Kyungsoo turns to glare up at him.

“I’m not. Trees seems to like you for some reason,” Kyungsoo clips harshly.

“Are you saying that you don’t?” Jongin blurts out- but Kyungsoo’s face falls immediately, his lips parting in surprise, and Jongin feels his heart being jerked out of his chest-

“I mean-” Trying to cough, to clear his tightening throat, Jongin’s voice is lost as he tries to speak again.

Having to dart his gaze away, he can only pray that the words came out like another joke, that Kyungsoo can snap back at him and dodge the question, or if maybe it got lost somewhere along the currents of wind so Kyungsoo didn’t hear him right.

But Kyungsoo only lowers his head, staying silent, and any last hopes of a simple ‘no- of course I like you’- even if it’s just a lie- are sinking low and heavy to the bottom of Jongin’s stomach. Squeezing his burning eyes shut for a moment, Jongin wrings his grip in his shirt, knowing he has to fix this somehow- that he has to patch up the gaping holes in his chest and just spit out _anything else-_

“Hey, I-”

“I miss you,” Kyungsoo says loudly, the crack in his voice stealing Jongin’s gaze back.

But Kyungsoo’s refusing to look at him, the words echoing haunted and vulnerable in Jongin’s mind, and he swallows, knowing that from Kyungsoo, they mean the same thing. After a moment, when Kyungsoo doesn’t take them back, Jongin finally lets himself breathe in, his lungs filling with a cold, deepening ache.

“I miss you, too,” he whispers. Over the gushing of the rain surrounding them, it must be too quiet to hear him, but Kyungsoo turns further away as if he did, the two of them standing still beside each other.

Kyungsoo misses him- Jongin isn’t sure what he’s meant to say next, if there’s more that Kyungsoo wants to tell him, or if that’s all he will, for now. Either way, Jongin can feel a grin cross his face, one that he can’t bite down, and he leans back, cheeks blooming pink in the warm air and the calmed silence.

The storm must have quieted slightly, or maybe Jongin’s just imagining that the water is now falling down in lighter streams, the garden shining brighter and the branches rustling less. Inhaling the thick smell of earth and soil, Jongin nudges his elbow against Kyungsoo, wondering if he should comment on it.

“I know that ballet’s important to you,” Kyungsoo continues a moment later, Jongin pressing closer to catch every word. “But you need to be more careful.”

“I am being careful,” Jongin assures, but Kyungsoo whips his gaze up at him accusingly, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You aren’t eating enough and you’ve lost weight!” he exclaims, and Jongin almost bursts out in fake laughter, but he coughs it back.

“I haven’t, really,” Jongin insists, shaking his head.

He knows for a fact that he’s barely lost anything, and that it isn’t showing at all. His muscles might show more definition when he flexes or starts dancing, but his body is nowhere near how it looked, before.

“I’m just worried,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin deflates, feeling the edges of his chest soften.

“You don’t have to. I swear,” he says, smiling down at him reassuringly. Kyungsoo looks unconvinced, though.

“It doesn’t matter what you say. I’m still going to.” Chuckling, Jongin shyly bumps into his side, his face burning and heart full.

“Jongin…” Kyungsoo pauses, making Jongin tilt his head to watch the uncertainty flicker over Kyungsoo’s expression, just for a quick second, before he frowns back up at him. “You know you can come visit whenever you want, right?” he asks, his words stern enough that Jongin can’t help but laugh, breathless.

“You- you too,” he assures, ducking his head. “My mom’s been asking about you.”

“Well, tell her I’ll come by soon,” Kyungsoo says curtly, though Jongin doesn’t miss the pride in his voice.

“I will,” he promises, shyly peering up at him.

“Good,” Kyungsoo clips. A brief smile pulls at his lips, curling them into Jongin’s favourite shape, before Kyungsoo forces it down. “We should go back inside, now.”

“What- do we have to?” Jongin tries, his stomach sinking just at the thought of leaving.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Kyungsoo says, grimacing up at the tree. “I need to see what’s happening with the others.”

Sighing, Jongin nods, easily admitting defeat, but the soft look that Kyungsoo offers him, that Jongin only catches at the last second before he frowns again, makes it worth it.

“You first,” Kyungsoo states.

“What- why me?” Jongin protests, before his tone turns teasing. “Are you scared of the rain or something?”

“No, I’m just being polite,” Kyungsoo snaps.

With one last, lingering grin, Jongin steps up to the edge of their shelter. The grass squelches between his toes, wet and muddy, and Jongin takes in a deep gulp of air before he breaks back into the grey sheet of rain, quickly gasping at how hard it’s pelting down.

“Hey, hurry up!” he screams back, a laugh climbing up his throat.

Through the streams that run down his fringe and into his eyes, he has to squint to make out that Kyungsoo’s yelling at him, whatever words he’s saying drowned in the downpour. But then Kyungsoo starts after him, hands thrown up to cover himself as Jongin races ahead, sprinting straight across the yard and through the empty clothes line until he’s safely shielded under the balcony.

Grinning from the complaints Kyungsoo’s spitting out behind him, Jongin rushes both hands through his hair, flicking out stray droplets that land as spots on the pavement.

“My new slippers are wet,” Kyungsoo grumbles out.

“Leave them out to dry,” Jongin suggests, already straightening up as Kyungsoo’s still wiping his glasses clean on his shirt.

“Yes, I will,” Kyungsoo huffs out, throwing Jongin a glare before he sticks his frames back on and slams open the door.

From inside, Jongin can already hear the cheering and shouting spill out, and he messily squeezes the water from his shirt before heading in, next. As he slides the door shut, Jongin is left in the cold air conditioning, surrounded by loud chatter, and the rain outside is silenced to a dull patter against the glass pane.

Stilling for a moment, Jongin swears he feel a change in the house- or maybe it’s just Kyungsoo’s warning that has a shiver crawling down his spine, goosebumps rising across his dampened arms. With a shake of his head, Jongin shoves that thought away and refocuses.

“What the hell were you guys even doing out there?" an unfamiliar voice exclaims, the first one to catch Jongin’s attention from how high it reaches above than the others.

Turning around, Jongin looks over to find their newest guest lounging on the opposite-facing couch. Baekhyun’s sitting side by side with a slumped Jongdae, who’s got his arms crossed over his chest and his feet rested on the coffee table. In comparison to Jongdae’s thick build, Baekhyun looks like a stick, his limbs thin and lanky as he swings them around at anyone with way too much energy.

But other than that and his gratingly loud way of talking, everything else about Baekhyun looks completely average. He’s got plain black hair, plain features, plain clothing- so Jongin doesn't understand what's meant to be so off-putting about him, or why Kyungsoo already has a dark guard shielding his face as he marches closer.

"Jongin?" Joonmyun asks, stealing back Jongin's concentration as he starts to walk again. "Would you like a warm drink?"

Politely, Jongin declines and moves to step past him, over to where Kyungsoo is taking a seat across from their guest, while Chanyeol and Sehun have taken the third couch up between the two of them.

"- so how do your powers work?" Baekhyun pushes. “Can you really talk to plants? And why were you making him hug that tree?” His gaze is so intent on Kyungsoo that he's leaning over the edge of his seat, not even glancing over when Jongin lowers himself next to him. “Was it like some kind of earth sacrifice thing-”

"No. We were just talking," Kyungsoo shoots back, the harshness in his tone instantly making Jongin's blood run cold.

Baekhyun, however, seems unphased, instead barking out a high-pitched laugh at Kyungsoo's answer. "Wow, what’s with the dialect?" he mocks, and even with the large gap between them, Jongin swears he can feel Kyungsoo's body stiffen, Jongin’s chest doing the same.

"Kyungsoo's from Gochang," Jongin defends a moment later, after it’s obvious that Kyungsoo won’t, once the silence has dragged on too long for him to sit comfortably with.

"Wait, are you serious?" Baekhyun exclaims, pointing a finger at Kyungsoo with a scoff. "Then I won't be doing any business deals with you."

"Good," Kyungsoo states. His voice cuts straight through Baekhyun's joking tone, and Jongin can’t stop himself from wincing, a headache already starting to throb from the back of his skull.

"Wow, so Jeolla people really _are_ that rude?" Baekhyun huffs out, sending a sharp strike to Jongin’s heart. As Baekhyun looks around the room for confirmation, Jongin keeps his glare turned down, his hands fisted at his side.

"But Kyungsoo's super nice!" Sehun pipes up with, loud enough that Jongin has to grit his teeth against the pressure. "I'm sure you're just tired, right? After being stuck outside in the rain?"

"No."

Baekhyun just snorts at Kyungsoo’s answer, and the atmosphere is spiraling out of control faster than Jongin can keep up with, his every instinct just wanting to leave- to run back outside where the humidity is less thick, less hard to breathe. But he won’t leave Kyungsoo here, even when Baekhyun’s stare zeroes in on Jongin, next, and he has to dart his eyes away.

“Hey, what about you?” Baekhyun asks. “You can teleport, right?

"Yeah," Jongin forces out. The empty space after his words is bitter, red-hot like the fire engulfing his chest, and he leaves it firmly shut.

"So, where's the furthest you've ever gone?" Baekhyun asks, a forced edge to his voice, or maybe it’s just warping in Jongin’s mind.

"New York," he replies, giving a stiff shrug.

"Huh, that's pretty cool. I’ve been to New York twice," Baekhyun says- boastfully, Jongin notes with another throb to his temples. "You ever done anything fun with your power?"

"Not really," he clips. Nails digging into his palms, Jongin wishes the questions would end, that Baekhyun would stop trying to humor him.

"Aw c'mon, man, are you serious? _Not really?_ What did you do the last time you teleported, then?"

Jongin just shrugs again, not even bothering to look away from his feet. The memory is distorted, way too far back in the wreckage, and his mind starts to dig through it without him even meaning to, all the way back to before Kyungsoo left, before he arrived- to the first time they met- and right on cue, he hears a loud crack rip through the earth, a black line staggering across the dirt floor and forcing Jongin to jerk his legs back in shock, heels hitting the hard couch and shooting pain up his calf.

Forcing his eyes shut, Jongin reopens them to only floor planks and beige rug, his heart left pounding in his throat and his lungs empty of air.

"Man, what kind of group is this?" Baekhyun scoffs out, his voice wrenching Jongin back to the present moment, back to the venom searing through his veins. "I was expecting something way more fun, but you’re all just- depressing. Like, look. You've got a sad, old man as your leader, a guy who barely talks,” he taunts, gesturing past Jongin. “- this guy who doesn't even know _how_ to talk- then you’re just pissed off for no good reason, and you- you don't even have powers. Seriously, what are any of you doing together?"

The silence rings out as a piercing whistle, stabbing at Jongin’s ears more than Baekhyun's words did, and he grips a hand to the back of his neck, begging for it to stop-

“We’re just trying to help each other,” Sehun mumbles out, the sadness of his voice parting the torrents in Jongin’s mind, and Jongin peers through his fringe to see his friend bowed low.

“Why do you even _need_ help?” Baekhyun demands, Sehun still refusing to look up at him.

“Having powers can be much more of a burden than a gift, sometimes,” Joonmyun explains, and Jongin doesn’t know how long he’s been standing behind them all- but he meets Jongin’s eyes briefly, offering Jongin a gentle smile before he turns back to Baekhyun. “It depends on the power, but everyone needs to be supported all the same. Is green tea alright with you?”

“Uh- sure, thanks,” Baekhyun says hesitantly.

Nodding, Joonmyun fades from view, his footsteps back to the kitchen muted, every sound drowned out by the screeching of the kettle. It happens without warning, panic sparking in Jongin’s chest as he feels the sound deforming, overtaking his mind, the violent pressure closing in on him, again-

"Hey. I’m sorry guys,” Baekhyun starts, his voice suddenly clear and monotone over the noise, and Jongin has to look up at him. With his head down, Baekhyun looks smaller, more vulnerable, and his next words sound the same. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize that you felt like that too,” he admits.

Shifting back to sit on his hands, Jongin waits for him to continue, his heartbeat dulled slightly.

“I haven’t told anyone this before, but- my girlfriend broke up with me when she found out about, you know- my powers. Just like yours did, Dae.” Quietly, Baekhyun sighs, giving Jongdae a small nudge, who’s watching him intently. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before it’s just- really embarrassing. She thought that if she touched me, I’d- I dunno- make her radioactive or something,” he huffs out, and Jongin looks away, a pang of guilt hitting his stomach, even if the walls around his chest don’t lower.

“The other SM trainees were all just... Idiots about it, too.” A trainee- that would explain the dance studio, Jongin notes. “Like you know that video that you saw online? They uploaded it as a joke, to try and make fun of me. It backfired but... everyone in the company was still laughing.”

“Shit, man. That sucks. All of it sucks,” Jongdae consoles, and Jongin catches Sehun nodding, too.

Keeping quiet, Jongin moves his gaze to the side, and he isn’t surprised to see the dark armor over Kyungsoo’s expression hasn’t changed. Trailing further down, he fixes onto Kyungsoo's tightly clasped hands, four fingers clearly spread out on his thigh. But Jongin can feel his sight quickly start to slip sideways, the image blurred over-

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Baekhyun sighs out, the words muffling in Jongin’s ears before they slowly start to surface. “It’s just hard, sometimes, being stuck with them every day. But what about you? You’ve barely said anything since we came here."

"Oh, yeah, just- I've just got this splitting headache," Jongdae admits with a long groan, and Jongin shifts his eyes over, refocusing.

"A hangover?" Sehun asks, having straightened up as well.

"But I didn't even drink last night!" Jongdae complains, voice high and annoyed. "Baekhyun wouldn't let me. He was too pumped to get here early."

"Looks like we both should've gotten smashed, anyway," Baekhyun tries to joke, with a soft punch to his bicep.

"It already feels like I did," Jongdae states, scrunching his face up in pain, both hands coming up to rest behind his head.

Silently, Joonmyun makes his way back over to them at that moment, stepping around the couches with a tray balanced in his hands. "Is there a drink I can make you, Jongdae?"

"No way, tea's for old people," Jongdae laughs out. "Nice try, gramps."

“Actually, tea’s cool and it’s good for you,” Baekhyun argues, making Jongdae snort back at him. “What, you should know that if you’re a nutrition student-”

“Hey! If I wanted to eat leaves, I could just get high instead.”

“Is that seriously the advice you’re gonna give people when you go back to uni next week-”

Over the clashing of their voices and Sehun’s laughter, Joonmyun kneels down to pour. The sound of water hitting against china has Jongin flinching, his bleared stare fixed down on his lap and everything around him too loud- only getting worse as Kyungsoo shifts across the couch to him, the leather screeching-

His bare knee knocks against Jongin’s, and Jongin almost gasps from the warmth it sends through his skin, the noises instantly quieted as Kyungsoo leans over him, reaching for his drink. Even when he sits back, Jongin’s eyes clung to his every move, Kyungsoo doesn’t shift further away, their legs still pressed together in the dip of the couch.

"- you’ve got to stop yelling, Dae," Baekhyun complains, and Jongin can’t manage to catch Kyungsoo’s gaze, so he follows it to see Baekhyun stirring his drink. "I swear, now _I_ can feel a migraine coming on, too."

"Five."

"Huh?" Jongin rushes out, his head whipped to the side, where he swears he heard the word coming from. But Kyungsoo is dead still, only watching on in silence, and Jongin blinks, having to catch his breath back.

"- why are you trying to blame _me_ for it?" Jongdae exclaims, Baekhyun quickly snapping something back at him.

Their conversation rings too clear in Jongin’s ears, blocking out the voice that he’s trying to replay in his head. As Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, the memory just slipped out of his grasp, he has to reason that it must have only been his imagination, a mix of the clinking and talking to sound real.

“- well, then it’s got to be something else,” Baekhyun insists. “Because my head is seriously _killing_ me-

"He's told five lies," Kyungsoo states suddenly, keeping quiet enough that it has to only be for Jongin to hear.

Kyungsoo still doesn’t look at him as he moves away, the warmth lingering on Jongin’s thigh and the noises magnifying in his head. Everyone is speaking at once, all desperate to be louder than each other, and Jongin has to blink to concentrate, again, his vision swimming as he forces himself to blur out the rest of the noises.

“How-” Swallowing, Jongin steels his expression, determined to make his words heard in the chaos. “But how can you tell that-”

" _Dammit,_ ” Baekhyun exclaims, making Jongin jolt in his seat, his thoughts uprooted. “Could that stupid clock stop ticking so fast?” Baekhyun grits out, gesturing behind him. “Doesn’t it bother you all-"

"Look at his hands," Kyungsoo orders, and as his breaths fall out shorter, Jongin tries to-

But he can only wince, blindly shutting the light out. His vision pounds red and hot, all the spots sharp enough that Jongin feels like he got burnt by the sun, and he digs his palms into his forehead, waiting for it to dim back.

“- all the clocks have been doing that for weeks, and our phones, too,” someone- Sehun- explains, the noises enhanced and crowding the whole space in Jongin’s mind, every word puncturing white against his closed lids. “We didn’t notice it, at first, but then whenever I left here, my phone’s timer would go back to normal-”

Nails biting into his scalp, lungs starved of air, Jongin has to pry his eyes back open to pant for air. Whatever was on Baekhyun’s hands before- the stabbing light- has dimmed back to something else. Clasped around the white porcelain, Baekhyun’s hands aren’t emitting their own glow, but look like they’re hidden behind glass panes, glints of light reflected across them and blanking out streaks of his skin.

“- Kyungsoo thinks it has to do with this guy that came over the other day,” Sehun continues, every word battering down on Jongin- “Yeah, he kind of… messed things up. But I think we’ve figured it out, now. So this place- like, all of Joonmyun’s house, right now- is moving at five times the rate of everywhere else. Give or take- but it was five when we checked it, yesterday- but then when we step back outside, we’re slowed back down to normal speed. It’s like we’re separated by some weird- time vortex or something. Pretty cool, huh?”

“As if,” Baekhyun snorts out, but Jongin is frozen in place, the last fragments in his mind shattering-

“No, I’m serious,” Sehun insists. “Guess what time it is and check your phone.”

“Seriously?” Baekhyun complains, but he does, and Jongin doesn’t even need to know his answer, because he already believes all of it- is already shaking from all the time he can’t afford to be losing, that has already rushed past him-

“Shit, how can it be that close to four o’clock?” Baekhyun says in horror, and Jongin snaps up to check the clock behind Baekhyun, the same clock he’d stared at earlier without realizing that anything was off, without realizing that the seconds hand was constantly ticking, moving too fast-

“That’s not all,” Sehun starts- until the words are suddenly cut off, left open as Jongin’s head is shot down with deafening bullets, the entire world flashing black like lightning-

In the gunfire, Jongin can’t grasp at anything, any thought, his gaze rushing around to see only lips miming words- chest frantically pushing and pulling without hearing the gasps for air. Everything is disappearing from his reach- infinite space blurring between him and the other figures in the empty room, his senses bleeding out white- and all Jongin can see is the clock trembling in front of him, can hear is the bomb countdown in his ears, desperate and a few short beats away from exploding-

Without warning, the shape is suddenly warping in Jongin’s view, the lines and numbers twisting to aim at him, to fly across and jab through his eyes, and Jongin rushes to hide his face, caving in on himself as tight as he can-

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Freezing, Jongin’s heart is still caged in his throat, his hands shaking in his hair when Baekhyun’s voice crashes back down on him, forcing every other noise into the background. There’s no impact from the knives he’d imagined, no pain except for his pulse stabbing him from the inside out, jamming hard into his skull- and Jongin slowly has to let his stiff arms fall to his lap to answer.

But as he faces straight ahead, he sees that Baekhyun isn’t looking at him, and it only takes a few moments for the rest to come into focus.

“C’mon, Yeol. You can talk, can’t you?” Baekhyun prompts, the words too mocking to mask his kind tone.

Chanyeol stands frozen in his spot, barely having taken a step from his seat. His eyes are wide, mouth left parted, but he doesn’t speak, the silence chained down by Jongin’s raging heartbeat.

“It’s alright, Chanyeol,” Joonmyun says softly from beside him, peering up with a concerned gaze.

“Yeah, you can sit back down with us,” Baekhyun states with a pat to the small space between him and Jongdae. “We’re all friends here, right? We’re not gonna bite.”

“Seven-”

“God, that sounds creepy, Baek. Don’t scare him off,” Jongdae groans out, but Jongin can barely focus on him, his mind pounding with the echo of what Kyungsoo said.

Taking a harsh breath in, one that burns at his lungs, Jongin steals a glance over. Next to him, Kyungsoo is staring straight back, his gaze boring into Jongin knowingly, and Jongin offers him a brief smile, fake and ripped from the centre of his chest before he darts away. He can feel it burning holes in his skin, but Jongin won’t check Kyungsoo’s reaction, instead sinking back into the couch with his eyes sealed tightly shut.

“So... uh- yeah. A lot’s been happening,” Sehun finishes off, his voice carried away in the wreckage, getting lost somewhere in Jongin’s mind, unable to be found.

Underneath every conversation that blurs past Jongin from then on, even once his heart has settled to a dull throb in his ears and his breaths have evened back to normal, the constant ticking refuses to fade from his mind.

On every ten- twenty- hour-long check that has Jongin’s chest lurching harder at each lost moment, the clock doesn’t stop running. It moves past them insistently- threateningly- faster than Jongin could ever hope to catch, and he’s helpless to make it stop.

 

[ ✴ ](https://8tracks.com/kaisoochateau/running-home-5-time-slip)

 

 

“No no, stop- scratch it all and go from the beginning, again. In four, three-”

His lungs aching for air, Jongin has no choice but to rush back to the center of the room on Hyukjae’s orders, the track barely giving him a second to cross his feet into fourth position, to raise his arm into third before _Sibelius’s Fifth Symphony_ rewinds back.

“And start.”

The beginning of the dance is slow, all graceful movements and elegant lines that Jongin tries so painfully to glide through. With each of the orchestra’s gentle rises, Jongin inhales through his diaphragm, dragging his leaden limbs across the floor and sighing back out with every dip along the major chords.

From the past eleven- twelve- he’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated these parts, of how many hours and days they’ve spent trying, without even once making it into the second half of the choreography before Hyukjae cuts him off. But against the heat flaring from Jongin’s waist, the frustration that has his jaw clenched tight behind closed lips, he has to keep his expression soft throughout the delicate movements, throughout the start of a sweet tale of love that he’s read countless times-

“Don’t turn your hips out! How many times am I gonna have to tell you-”

Letting go of his held breath, Jongin lowers his leg back down, the fall from _arabesque_ back to walking a brief relief against the flames burning his side. He’s worn straight through the two Advils he’d thrown back at lunchtime, and now, even a simple series of pirouettes, the spins balanced on the ball of his foot and hands gently held over his core, is enough to have blind spots sparking in his vision. As his leg reaches out into _a la seconde-_  raw pressure is sent shooting from his bearing on the floor, all the way up to his lower back-

“Focus and keep your toes pointed- god, it’s like talking to a preschooler-”

The words blare over the skips in the track, stabbing deep into Jongin’s chest, but he can only keep trudging his way through the choreo, not allowed to say anything back. He knows, is too aware that he’s making the exact same mistakes, that his moves are losing any precision, any softness they had before, every motion in the mirror flying further and further out of his grip, but- Jongin’s mind is covered in a haze, his reflection now blurred, the music lost somewhere three turns ago, and he can hardly feel the directions that his muscles are being pulled in-

“Speed up! You’ve fallen a whole beat behind!”

Forcing himself forward, Jongin only has a few steps to build up the momentum for a _grand allegro_ , leaping into the splits with both feet tucked in before he has to repeat the move a second later.

“Straighten your legs-”

Jongin lands from the last jump with a clatter, barely saving himself in time for a quick succession of tightly-wrung _deboule_ _s_ towards the glass wall. This is the marker for the music to turn sinister, for the symphony to strum faster, the notes to strike lower, for Jongin’s actions to hurl him over the edge-

His breaths stumbling over each other, Jongin rushes through the next combinations, deaf to everything except the blood pounding through his veins and thrashing against his waist, just begging for him to make it to the end. Throwing himself into the air, legs ripped apart and together as hastily as Jongin can push, he’s only seconds away from the finale, his movements frantic as he sprints closer to the last fifteen _fouette_ _s_ -

“- I said stop!”

But Jongin is mid-air, mid- _cabriole_ when Hyukjae’s voice shatters the mirror, making him slam to the ground with a sharp jolt up his foot, only just able to catch himself upright.

Panting, Jongin can feel an emptiness ring in his mind as the music shuts off, can feel Hyukjae’s eyes shooting daggers at him from the sidelines- but Jongin’s left with barely enough strength to hold himself up, and nowhere near enough to hide it. As he doubles over and grasps at his thighs for support, the room is left in a torturous silence, Jongin’s whole body shaking from the deepest parts of his core and all the way down his weakened limbs.

But louder than the pain, his gasps for air, he knows what Hyukjae’s going to say to him, the words already beating down on his mind harder than anyone could shout- that this isn’t good enough- he has to try harder- he’s got no fucking excuse- Jongin’s been taking it all day, and he doesn’t want any sympathy, now, when their time is close to running out.

The thoughts bear down on him, leaving Jongin hunched over on himself in the static, in the prickling on his skin and the boiling underneath. No one says anything, and even when Jongin’s managed to gasp air back into his collapsed lungs, the position wrenching his back too much, he still can’t make himself stand up.

There’s a sigh from across the room, hollow and echoing in the silence, and Jongin finally forces himself to look over.

For the first time in too long, Hyukjae’s done with his pacing, instead sitting on the bench with his elbows on his knees, his gaze more tired than accusing.

“You haven’t improved at all this week. If anything, I think you’re going backwards.” The words sound defeated, Hyukjae’s voice quiet even as it’s amplified to take up all of the space in the room. His chest aching, Jongin can only turn away, avoiding the mirror and closing his eyes, letting it rain down on him. “I don’t know what it is, Jongin- if you can’t keep up with the pace we’re going at, or if you’ve hit some kind of wall, but- we can’t keep going like this. Not with auditions coming up in a month.”

Numbly, Jongin just nods.

“What happened to you?” Hyukjae asks, almost saddened. “There’s no passion left in your dancing- I don’t see any emotion except... _pain_. Do you have an injury you’re not telling me about?”

“No-” Jongin rasps out, too rough, a blaze of fire stabbing at his waist in protest.

“You’ve had all week-” Hyukjae continues, not faltering. “I gave you an extra day because we all have our bad ones, but I can tell this is more than that. I mean, you’re-” Hyukjae lets out another sigh, filled with regret- and all of Jongin’s bones ache with every drawn-out heartbeat- “You were going fine last week. Slow- but fine. Even all the way back in January, you were still nailing your jumps. I remember you weren’t up to _grande jetes_ or even doing ten _grand pirouettes_ in a row _,_ but you were improving so fast- your progress was always consistent- and now...”

Jongin already knows this- all of this, every gently-said word ripping into him with a tear of skin, and he just wants to beg Hyukjae to yell at him, to pick apart every single move Jongin’s ever made, just anything except this quiet, this loss -

“Jongin, can you tell me why you came back?” Hyukjae asks him, making Jongin sink even lower, eyes closed tight and pounding red.

“I…” Jongin tries to clear his throat silently, his tongue thick and blocking the words. “Because I didn’t want to quit.”

“But _why_?” Hyukjae demands. “Why do you want to keep dancing?”

“Because-” Struggling, Jongin huffs out a harsh breath, his mind throbbing too quickly, the noise drowning out all of his thoughts. He’s in _agony,_ biting down on his lip to stop himself from sobbing, hard enough to draw blood- “I don’t know-”

“Why do you come here everyday, Jongin? Why do you put yourself through this if you can’t even tell me the reason you want to-”

“ _Because it’s all I can do_ ,” Jongin snaps before his mouth clamps shut, his heart stopped and the weight crashing back down on him heavier than ever.

It’s too late, though- the words have been cut straight out of his chest and left to hang above them, the open wound bleeding out onto the wooden ground, flooding Jongin’s sight-

“So, is that it?” Hyukjae muses, his voice void of emotion. “Is that what you think?”

Jongin doesn’t even have the strength to shake his head, to look at him. His whole body is frozen, crushed stiff, and he couldn’t fight his way out even if he wanted to-

“If that’s the case... Then I’m sorry, Jongin- but I don’t think I should be training you.” Jongin can hear footsteps, now- and he knows they’re marching further away from him, even as each one rings louder than the last, only an empty hammering against the back of his eyelids. “You’re not in the right mindset, and I can’t afford you pulling another runner on me at the last second- I just can't. Not when I’ve put myself on the line to get you that audition. Look, if you’re not in this one hundred percent, then there’s no point in either of us being here. I’m not just gonna let us keep coming here and just waste our time and your parents’ money-”

Jongin's mind is reeling- drowning- This can’t be real, he prays. It has to his mind fucking him over- another hallucination warped from his worst nightmares-

“Take a break,” Hyukjae says, his voice faded far into the background, barely heard over the shattering in Jongin’s mind- the white blinding Jongin’s vision- “Figure out what you’re doing, what you want, and I’ll talk to you, then.”

With a crack of thunder- Jongin gasps in a breath, his eyes flung open to see nothing but darkness, the entire room turned black. Panicked, he rushes his head to every side, desperate to see again, and it’s only when he stumbles forward that the room comes back into view, all studio lights, white walls and wooden floor panes. In front of him, the reflection staring back is unfamiliar, his chest heaving up and down frantically, and Jongin sees him sink to the floor before he feels the sharp cold hit his knees, the fire shooting up to his waist a second too late.

Shakily, Jongin lays himself on his other side, the mirror blurring out of focus so that he's completely alone.

He stays there, every part, every muscle, every cell in his body aching deep enough that he can’t make out the pain anymore, the only thing left a loud thudding throughout his skull.

 

✴

 

 

 _Zitao came by today._ **Sent: 14:55**

 _Really? What happened?_ **Sent: 17:30**

 _Yixing is back, too._ **Sent: 17:30**

 _It’ll be easier if I tell you in person. Can I come over tonight?_ **Sent: 17:31**

With a sigh, Jongin lowers his head further down, digging the heel of his palm into his eyes until they’re washed over with static. He can hear the words ringing in Kyungsoo’s deep voice, the only sound that’s cut through the symphony blaring in Jongin’s mind for hours-

If it were a different day, the thought of seeing Kyungsoo would be enough to lift any misery off of his shoulders, to fill his lungs for the first time all week and plant the roots of a smile on his face.

But right now, Jongin can’t let it, can’t let this throw off his concentration, even if there is something inside him unfurling from reading the message, that softens the dread of going home-

Shaking his head, pushing back the voices that he’s kept locked behind steel gates all day, Jongin looks back down at his phone and types out his reply.

 _Okay. After 8 is good_ **Sent: 17:34**

If Jongin can stay here until at least 7:30PM, it should be enough to miss dinner- he’s felt so nauseated that he wouldn’t have been able to keep the food down, anyway- and he’ll be able to race past his parents to his room. They hadn’t even wanted him to go to the studio today, insisting it was a waste of time without Hyukjae, but Jongin had ignored every word, every offer of an early lift home.

It’ll be fine- he assures himself, and even if he leaves earlier than he planned to tonight, that still gives him another two hours of practice to make up for his slow pace today, to master the routine once and for all. The echoing words only fall on deaf ears, though, numb to the nerves eating at his body.

Shoving his phone back into his bag, where it stays on silent, Jongin stands back up. He was only meant to sit for one minute instead of five, now having let too many seconds go to waste. He can’t afford that anymore.

With a harsh breath out, no time spare for extra stretches, Jongin messily arches his back, head lulling to each side as his spine is forced to click into place. Every hurried step back to the centre of the floor has his waist twinging, Jongin’s eyes fixed hard on the reflection walking alongside him.

Since the second he stepped into the studio this morning, Jongin’s thought of nothing except _Sibelius_ , and he won't let a short distraction destroy his progress. He’s played over the choreography thousands of times in his mind, ever since it clambered out of his nightmares during his restless hours in bed. All day, Jongin's been working in silence, in slow-motion, splitting the dance open to pour over every single millisecond, painstakingly dragging himself through each move until the mirror shows him exactly what he wants.

Time has been playing against Jongin, tormenting him as the backing track of his own thoughts, the metronome ticking way too fast and his pulse rushing to match it before the clock runs out. Without anything left to stand in his way, the unending panic closing in on him too fast, urging him to perform, Jongin knows there’s no other choice.

Stood in the centre of the stage, Jongin's gaze pierces into the mirror, determined, unforgiving.

He starts his own countdown, closing his eyes and turning his feet out to fourth position. One arm gently floats up, an old ghost brushing over his skin and a hush laid over the room. Jongin’s heartbeat is only a silent pounding in his ribcage, his stance assured, and this time, he will not make any mistakes.

On zero, the first note of _Sibelius_ rings out, pure and deafening, and Jongin opens his eyes. His reflection is gone, the wall opened out to a blackened auditorium, faceless figures stretching as far as the stage light can reach, all offering him a second chance, and Jongin starts to dance for them.

As the music builds, gentle brass flowing into hopeful winds, Jongin lets himself fall further and further away, the spotlight making his skin glisten gold, a shimmering canvas stroked with every light step, every smooth spin, every measured breath, painting a timeless story.

The world watches as Jongin moves, a thousand eyes burned into each inch of his body, scraping for flaws- but Jongin only has his gaze saved one person, one face that Jongin runs back to after every _pirouette_ \- that he traces over in the utmost detail with his curved hands, his straight legs, his pointed feet.

From the centre of his core and rushing down all the parts of his being, Jongin yearns for his lover like fire, reaching out to him with open arms and his soul bared for him to take, for him to guard.

Abruptly- the backing track cuts out, stranding Jongin in stilled air, in the middle of a deep breath in. But he’s been practicing for this his whole life- every instrument and chord already carved into his mind, and he doesn't pause, doesn’t falter, the chords pounding in place of a heartbeat as he leaps towards his lover- once, twice, three perfect _jetes_ landing silently.

Immediately, he spins closer, his chest aching too much to bear the empty space between them- rushing through _deboule_  after _deboule_  after _deboule_ when Jongin loses sight of him in the blur, his body torn away in the battering symphony-

Frantic, Jongin can feel the stage slipping away from him- his limbs being shoved and pulled in every direction as he fights for any of the air being ripped away- his eyes searching- begging-

Through the sinister shadows and looming trees, Jongin is hurled forward, disappearing deeper in the forest with the last of his hope- desperate to find his lover again in the darkness- his blood racing faster than his body can keep up with-

All the pain crashes down on him at once- clawing at the skin, wrenching at every muscle, and Jongin lets out a scream, torn from his raw lungs and only swallowed in the chaos-

The world burns red-hot, his _cabrioles_ thrown high in the air and splintering his bones when he slams back down to the ground. He’s losing time- barely any of it left as he tears himself out of the storm’s grip and forces himself to spin- his _fouette_ _s_ screeching past each other, trying to escape the flames rising from wherever Jongin looks, his entire body breaking apart, destroying itself at the seams-

Suddenly, with a sickening crack, Jongin’s ankle twists underneath him- everything flashing white as his weight falls, shattering onto his sharp hip bone-

On the ground where he lays, there’s only a ringing, a high and deafening sound that drowns out everything else.

Jongin can feel nothing- no part of himself- only a searing heat taking over everything he once was-

And then it goes black.

 

 

{ Short clips to help you imagine Jongin's [Sibelius](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8qiAMOiygs) choreo: [First half](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=St2yCC99EsA) | [Second half ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFXC5oBKS2Q) }

 

 


	10. Acte II - 9. Grand pas d'action: Allegro vivace, grande coda, adagio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Many people are being affected by natural disasters and Jonghyun's recent passing at the moment, and my heart goes out to all of you. If any of these warnings might be upsetting to you, please be careful in choosing whether or not to read parts of this chapter. Of course you can contact me and ask for more details via my twitter or tumblr @kaisoochateau <3

 

 

✴

 

It's in a trance, an adrenaline-fueled haze that Jongin manages to stagger out of the studio after he resurfaces, to catch the bus home in the rain and to limp back upstairs without anyone noticing him.

All his mind can reach for is his bed, and the thought of laying there until his ears are no longer pulsing and the black clouds can let go of his thoughts. But when he hurls his room’s door open with weak arms, before he's even stepped inside- reality crashes back down on Jongin with an empty thud in his chest.

His room looks like a complete disaster, with clothes strewn across every surface and rubbish overflowing onto the floor, and there's no way he can leave it like this, not when Kyungsoo is meant to come over and Jongin has no idea how much time he was out for-

With a quiet shudder, his head hung for only the one second he can spare for himself, Jongin steps forward, doing everything he can to keep his weight on just his right side as he limps through the only path of revealed wood. The mess is so big that he doesn’t know where to start, the storm beating against his window loud enough to drown everything out, and Jongin’s breaths starting to quicken before he can catch up to them. With the dread of everything digging heavy into his skull, Jongin makes a dive down to a pile of shirts and stops dead-

Fire immediately shoots up from his hip to strangle his throat- white bursting across his vision as Jongin has to grasp onto the desk chair for balance. It's worse than a million knives stabbing into him, and Jongin is stuck half bent over, half-blind, barely there, until the pain fades back to a sharp pulsing.

Hissing, his spine creaking and waist burning, Jongin pushes himself back up to standing on one foot, tightly gripped onto his support. From his desk, the blinking numbers on the clock come back into focus to tell him it’s 19:21, and he should have just enough time to fix this.

After the years of ballet, Jongin isn’t a stranger to injuries, and he knows he can handle this on his own. With the constant pulled muscles and aching bruises splayed over his body, he’s accumulated enough supplies in the shared bathroom to treat almost anything, and he pushes himself past breaking point to stumble in there.

Trembling, Jongin rummages through the cupboard in a panic, knocking medications over and rattling the wood before he manages to grab the best things he can find- compression bandages and ice wraps that are only melted liquid now. What he needs is proper, solid ice- but Jongin’s got no way of going downstairs and grabbing it from the freezer without someone catching him, so instead, all he can rush to think of is filling up a bucket with cold tap water.

It should be fine, Jongin assures himself, as he wavers and thumps back down the hallway, almost smashing into the wall and spilling everything along the way-

The second he’s shut in his room, the downpour deafeningly loud over his panting, Jongin painstakingly works on peeling his leggings off, through fumbling fingers and waves of tears stinging at his eyes.

This is only a small sprain, he reminds himself, wheezing in shorter and shorter breaths as he slowly lowers his body onto the bed, jamming his hip into the dampened cushion and shoving his foot underwater-

Twenty minutes of soaking and a night elevated while wrapped in tight binds, and his ankle will be back to normal. By tomorrow morning, Jongin will be in the studio, again, stretching and ready to dance like nothing ever happened.

The last time he sprained his ankle was three years ago, and that was way worse than this- Jongin already seething at the memory. A twist from a bad _fouette_ is nothing, nothing compared to the crash from a failed _grand jete_ , so he’s got nothing to worry about.

With the water sloshing, Jongin tries to lift his foot slightly, to flex it in a circular motion, but even that's too hard- The protest makes him gasp out loud, splitting his head open as a stream cracks onto the floor. Gritting his teeth, Jongin redirects all the strain into laying his heel flat on the bottom of the plastic. He gasps in through the arched cramp, his lungs pounding as oxygen can finally start to flow all the way down to his throbbing foot.

Jongin repeats the exercise, with deep inhales through his nose and long exhales from his mouth, the torrents and winds echoing throughout his room. As he manages to pace his breathing, his heart aching slightly less, he can feel the pressure on his ankle lift, so that he only has to flinch if he presses down too hard. Patiently, he works up a rhythm in his stretching, knowing with a sunken chest that it’s all he can do for now.

A sudden knock has Jongin jolting, his side panging from the way his body instantly stiffens.

"Jongin?"

It's Kyungsoo's voice- muffled through the storm- and Jongin is washed over with boiling hot panic, his pulse choking him as he checks to see that it's only 17:44-

“Yeah, w-wait a second,” he calls out, the doorknob snapping back to stillness.

With his mind reeling, Jongin has to dart in a frenzy to fix everything, his ankle protesting as he hauls it out of the bath, dripping more water onto the already-wet floor. Leaning down to hide the bucket under his bed makes Jongin's waist rage, and he's left heaving through the agony of scrambling upright and pulling on the nearest pants - blue pyjamas - that cover his desk chair.

There's no time to clean up anything, not even to wipe his leg dry, so Jongin just lugs his body onto the bed, torturing himself by scraping himself back until he’s sitting against the headrest. Quickly wiping the thick layer of sweat from his forehead, Jongin grabs at the nearest thing off his bedside table- an American magazine on ballet that his blood-stained vision can barely make out- and opens it to a random dog-eared page.

"Come in," he calls out, needing to steady his voice between pants.

Kyungsoo does, the door swinging open with a harsh slam, and Jongin looks over, needing a second for the spots to clear before he sees Kyungsoo’s grave expression.

“Hey,” Jongin tries, tugging his lips into what he hopes is a believable smile. The strain of it throbs against his temples, his waist, his ankle- threatening to give him away, and Jongin has to force himself to turn his gaze to the side. “I- yeah, sorry about the- the whole mess-”

“What’s wrong?” Kyungsoo instantly asks.

“Huh? Nothing I-” Jongin rushes out, already feeling his face burn from the lie. “I’ve just- been lazy with cleaning.”

But Kyungsoo doesn’t buy it, and Jongin peers up to see his stare wracking over the water on the floor, over Jongin’s form, before fixing onto Jongin’s eyes with too much intensity. Something like fear washes over Kyungsoo’s face in that moment, leaving his mouth agape.

“Jongin, what happened?” he demands, racing over and cornering Jongin with so much urgency that Jongin snaps his head down.

“Nothing, seriously- I. I don’t know what you mean,” he insists with a breathless laugh, his heart hammering as Kyungsoo’s shadow looms too close. “So, what- what happened with Zitao?”

“You’re hurt-” Kyungsoo argues, and Jongin can only shake his head vigorously.

"No- no, everything's fine," he assures, his tone growing higher with panic.

"Jongin-"

“I’m fine,” Jongin huffs out, desperately wishing he could curl up on himself and hide- “Really, I swear that I’m fi-”

With a cry, Jongin's entire world bursts bright red, and he has to lunge forward and grab at Kyungsoo’s arm, pulling him away. Flaring in scalding hot bursts, his ankle screeches from where Kyungsoo touched him, the pain barely louder than the pulse he's panting against.

It takes a second for Jongin to come back, for his eyes to refocus and for him to realize how deep his nails are digging into Kyungsoo's hand. Swallowing through his raw throat, Jongin slowly lets his muscles loosen.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, so quiet that Jongin can barely hear him.

“It’s fine, I just- landed badly in the studio,” Jongin rasps out, as he's still praying for the throbs to wane back to their normal speed. “This- happens all the time.”

“Can I see?” Kyungsoo asks softly, hesitantly, and Jongin looks up to meet his sincere eyes.

As he takes an uneven breath in, Jongin can’t do anything but nod and let go.

Silently, Kyungsoo takes a place at the foot of the bed, the dip in the mattress enough to disturb Jongin’s ankle and make him tense up.

“Let me do it,” Jongin urges, almost in a whisper, and Kyungsoo only sits perfectly still as he waits.

Jongin's hands are unsteady under Kyungsoo’s gaze, as he leans over to roll back the dampened hem of his pyjama pants, all the way up to the knee. The pressure on his waist is too sharp, though- and Jongin has to lean back before he can see what has Kyungsoo’s lips parting open.

“Jongin-”

“It’s nothing,” Jongin huffs out, too fast, too curt, blinking until his eyes clear. “I’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”

A soft hand comes to rest on Jongin’s knee, making Jongin’s heart falter for a brief second, stilling it against the beating waves.

“This looks serious,” Kyungsoo says gently, and Jongin swallows, his throat aching.

If he strains his head to the side, Jongin can catch a glimpse of his shin before the stretch hurts too bad- just long enough that he sees the swelling of the area, the pinkened skin beneath his leg hair, the red and purple blooming on the bulge of his ankle-

Lightheaded, Jongin has to lie back down, the blood rushed down from his face and making him feel nauseous.

“It’s alright,” he croaks out, the words catching and only leaving him sicker. “This- this is normal.”

“Of course it’s not. You’re in pain,” Kyungsoo states, and Jongin shivers at the way Kyungsoo’s fingers brush over his skin, sparks sent running up his spine. “We need to go to the emergency room-”

“No-” he blurts out frantically, and Kyungsoo stops to stare at him, his hand drawn back to his lap. Blood pounding, all of Jongin’s thoughts are surging up at once, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to force them back down and explain himself- “It’s okay, I swear. I’ve had this before, and I- I just need to sleep it off-”

“I don’t believe you,” Kyungsoo accuses, cutting straight through Jongin’s words. “You could have broken something, or you might be bleeding-”

“Please- _please_ trust me,” Jongin begs, giving Kyungsoo a desperate look that has his glower wavering, just for a moment. “I promise- we don’t need to go anywhere. I can handle it on my own.”

Hesitance flickers past Kyungsoo's features, and he shrinks back. “Is that what your coach said?” Kyungsoo asks cautiously, the words making Jongin's chest pang.

"He... he wasn't there," Jongin admits after a moment, and he hangs his head to avoid Kyungsoo's widened eyes.

"What did your parents tell you to do?" Kyungsoo asks, pressing harder.

“I don’t know,” Jongin mutters, burying himself in his hands before he has to see Kyungsoo’s reaction.

“You haven’t told them,” Kyungsoo says bluntly. Jongin doesn’t move, doesn’t even let himself take a breath until Kyungsoo speaks again, the bed shifting as he moves to stand, Jongin snapping up to watch. “They need to know, Jongin. I’m going to go and ask them what we should do-”

“No, Kyungsoo- please you _can’t_ ,” Jongin chokes out, hysteria hitching his voice and making Kyungsoo round back on him.

“Why not?” he demands, staring down at Jongin sharply.

“They can’t know about this- but- but I swear I’m fine-” Jongin whispers, the strings in his throat twisted so tight that he can barely speak- barely breathe-

“Why not?” Kyungsoo repeats, more strict this time, and Jongin hides himself again, his fingers shaking in his hair as the storm tears through the last wall.

After last night, Jongin can’t bear the thought of seeing his parents again, not when all his mind is flooded with is their shock, the disappointment on their faces, and then the clear impatience.

He managed to shut each word out for so long, and only now are they all flooding back to him, his eyes burning from how deeply they were branded into his skull the entire time-

Like how the hell could there be no more one-on-one sessions, no audition in November- nothing from Hyukjae until further notice? How could Jongin just not have been ‘up to it’ after all the time and money they’d invested in his dream- and how was he going to make up for it now?

From the second Jongin had returned home, he was cornered and pelted down with every question that they had from Hyukjae’s phone call, with conversations that he’d been avoiding for months, that his parents must have been rehearsing from even before Juilliard, just waiting for when ballet fell through for good and Jongin would have no choice but to admit he was wrong.

“I can’t- can’t quit again,” Jongin says softly, slowly, his voice on the edge of breaking. “Not after everything.”

“Jongin-”

“Not after I just started, again,” he breathes out.

Kyungsoo’s doesn’t say anything, and the room is still, the rain outside battering down on Jongin’s head like a high-pitched ringing. As his lungs beg for air, Jongin forces down a shallow breath, feeling faint and empty.

“You can’t dance on a broken ankle,” Kyungsoo finally states.

“It’ll be fine in the morning-”

“Jongin, _stop_ ,” he orders, cold enough that Jongin has to, the weight in his body collapsing further in on himself. “If you won’t talk to your parents, then I’ll make Joonmyun drive back here and we’ll take you to the hospital ourselves.”

All Jongin can do is shake his head, every muscle aching as he does, his vision swirling with only red and black.

“Something else has been happening to you,” Kyungsoo states, as Jongin's sob is bitten into his hand, nothing left in him to deny it. “I know that you don’t want to tell me what it is, but you can’t keep lying to me, especially not when it’s hurting you like this. Jongin- I…” Kyungsoo’s voice falters, making Jongin sink further in on himself. “I want to help you.”

“I know-” Jongin whispers out, fists digging into his blinded eyes. “I know, I just-”

“Please let me-”

“I can’t-” he insists. unable to look at Kyungsoo, to face his disappointment, the weight of it already crashing down on him. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t tell you- not yet.”

“Will you ever?” Kyungsoo asks, the simple question shattering the last pieces of Jongin's heart.

“I don’t know,” he croaks out. “I... I just don’t-” He lets the sentence hang open in the air, unable to find the words in the weak wreckage of his body.

“It’s fine,” Kyungsoo sighs out, after a long, deafening moment. The pain is clear in his voice, and it cuts razor-sharp through the thick smog of Jongin’s mind. “What can we do now?” he demands, and Jongin has to swallow past the pain eating at his throat.

“I-I need an ice pack,” he says weakly.

“Okay. Don't move, I’ll find one for you,” Kyungsoo assures, and Jongin only hears the door click shut, the rest lost under his fading pulse and the thunder outside.

With a limp thud, Jongin lets himself fall back against the headrest. All his blood and muscle feels like it’s drained from his body after the strain of everything, and he forces himself to squint open his eyes. Alone in the middle of the storm, there’s nothing to stop Jongin from slipping further and further down, his eyelids heavy as he slowly blinks, waiting for the room to stop shifting in front of him and for the lights to stop flickering on and off-

“- Jongin?”

Gasping, Jongin jolts back into consciousness, the same wall he’d been staring at only a few seconds ago finally coming into full focus. The rain is still beating down just as hard, like no time passed by him at all, as Kyungsoo patiently waits for him to catch his breath.

“Did you fall asleep?” Kyungsoo asks, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“I-I think so,” Jongin rasps out between pants, before trying to clear the lump lodged in the back of his throat.

“I'm sorry I took so long,” Kyungsoo says, gently pulling out the desk chair and brushing the stray clothes onto the floor. “Your mom wanted to talk to me. She asked if you had dinner already.”

“I- not yet,” Jongin admits, and instantly, Kyungsoo’s expression darkens, his eyes slitting into a glare as he sits down and rolls to Jongin’s side.

“Of course you haven’t. I shouldn't even be surprised, anymore,” he hisses out, more to himself than Jongin, who lets out a thin laugh. “After this, you need to eat,” Kyungsoo warns sharply. “I don’t care if I have to spoon it down your throat.”

“Okay,” Jongin whispers, smiling through the fog, even as Kyungsoo fixes him in place with his most threatening scowl.

“Good. Do I put the ice on your ankle?” Kyungsoo asks curtly, the rectangular pack crinkling in his hands.

“We should wrap it up first,” Jongin mutters, already aching as he leans an arm towards his desk, until Kyungsoo stops him with a firm hand latched around his wrist.

“You’re not allowed to move,” Kyungsoo deadpans, grabbing the roll of bandages first, and Jongin sags back with a sigh.

As Kyungsoo spins his chair down to reach for his foot, Jongin instinctively jerks away from Kyungsoo’s outstretched hand, the sudden shock slashing fire up his leg and leaving him blinded-

“Fuck,” he spits out, his shoulders curled in and trembling.

“Hold still,” Kyungsoo murmurs, and Jongin takes in a gasp of air, holding onto it tightly as Kyungsoo rests a hand to the back of his knee and draws him in closer. “You have to tell me what to do next.”

“Start around the middle of the foot,” Jongin rushes out, his whole chest burning with dread.

With his hands fisted into the sheets, Jongin grits out instructions to Kyungsoo through clenched teeth, his eyes shut to a gunshow of flames and sparks. The pain claws into him with every movement of Kyungsoo’s hand, Jongin unable to make out anything he’s doing in the deafening pressure-

“Breathe,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin does, blowing out a giant mouthful and barely loosening the other tendons in his body.

Throughout the last of it, Jongin has to force himself to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth, his tears running down and nerves on the verge of breaking. Even as Kyungsoo is finally clicking the metal clasps together, Jongin’s veins are still boiling with red-hot blood, his heart raging in his chest hard enough to drown everything else out.

Carefully, Kyungsoo sets his foot back down onto the mattress, one hand lingering along the bare skin of his knee. As Kyungsoo presses the frozen pack to the worst part of his ankle, Jongin has to gasp through the sudden scald of ice, almost jerking away before Kyungsoo eases him back into place.

After enough scattered breaths and gentle strokes along his leg, Jongin lets his grip in the sheets unfurl. With the cold touch, the sharp edges of pain are reluctantly shrinking away, numbed to a deep pang inside the bone, and Jongin can finally lean back and heave air into his aching lungs, again. Ignoring the twinge set off in his waist, Jongin opens his eyes to meet Kyungsoo’s worried stare, his stomach curling with shame as he hurriedly wipes the streaks from his face.

“I- so,” Jongin huffs out, his lips trembling, damp, nowhere near strong enough to tug into a smile. “What did Zitao do?”

“Nothing much,” Kyungsoo replies curtly, and Jongin sniffs, smirking to himself for a pained second.

“I thought-" Wincing at a sudden shift in Kyungsoo's hold, Jongin has to wait for the lurch in his stomach to pass. "I though you were coming here to tell me about it,” he says shakily.

“It’s not important, anymore,” Kyungsoo states, his gaze darting down to the ice pack in his hands.

"But I want to know," Jongin insists.

"Well, there are plenty of things that you won't tell me, either," Kyungsoo shoots back, not even masking the bitterness in his voice that has Jongin's chest twisting.

There's no lie Jongin can make up, nothing he can say about it, at least not yet. All the words are choked in the pit of his empty stomach, too many of them to dig through and untangle, and Jongin looks away as his insides boil with guilt.

“How long are we keeping the ice on it?” Kyungsoo asks a moment later, a reluctance in his blank tone.

Flicking his gaze up to Kyungsoo's, Jongin's only met with a blank stare from behind thick glasses, and he lets himself suck in a shallow breath.

"Twenty minutes,” Jongin answers, not missing the grimace that pulls at Kyungsoo’s features. “Are your fingers okay?”

“They’re fine,” Kyungsoo snaps back. “Worry about yourself.”

Breathlessly, Jongin lets out a puff of laughter from his hollow lungs. “I can hold it for a bit,” he assures, even though his teeth have quietly started to chatter.

“Good,” Kyungsoo says begrudgingly. “But only because I need to heat up dinner for you, and you have to finish everything I bring you” Reaching forward as slowly as he can, Jongin grazes over Kyungsoo’s fingers, holding the cool plastic in place for him as Kyungsoo continues to lecture him. "It isn't healthy to be eating this late."

"I know," Jongin huffs out, straining to speak with the tension crammed in his hip.

"Well, it doesn’t seem like it," Kyungsoo bites back, and Jongin cracks an uneven smile. “I’m not going to let you skip any more meals.”

“Can you get more pillows, too? To put under my ankle,” he asks quietly.

"Fine," Kyungsoo replies as he looks away, down to where he takes his hand off of Jongin's knee, the warmth stolen with him and plunging Jongin underwater.

"Thank you," Jongin mumbles, neither of them sharing another glance as Kyungsoo stands up and starts to leave.

“I'll be back soon,” he says, his voice already muffled under the torrents, achingly far away.

“Hey... Kyungsoo?” With a second of hesitation, Kyungsoo turns down to meet Jongin’s gaze, his eyes shining more brightly than Jongin could have expected, and Jongin’s heart stops in its tracks.

“I-” _I’m sorry about this- about everything-_ is what he’s longing to tell him, but Jongin’s voice falters at the last second, his chest cracked and bleeding with the unsaid words.

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoo assures, and with the faintest smile, so forced that Jongin can’t believe it, he turns his pained gaze away, the door shut behind him.

Left in the stillness and the pounding of the rain, Jongin silently lowers himself against the headboard, his vision catching on the brightly blinking clock that ticks back at him. Shuddering as he closes his eyes to the numbers, to the red 20:03 burned into his mind, Jongin can feel the darkness start to seep back in without warning, to crawl out from where it was hiding in the centre of his ribcage.

Outside, the storm sounds like it's crashing down harder than ever, loud enough to deafen out the rest of the world, and Jongin does nothing. He lets it all tear through him without trying to understand, his eyes stinging blind as a clap of thunder wrenches the tendons in his ankle and waist apart further than he can mend.

 

✴

 

The pain only bears down worse the next day, stabbing deep into his bones when Jongin claws his way out of the deepest sleep he’s had in weeks. Every inch of his clammy skin has been pulled taut over the raging fire underneath, and Jongin wouldn’t even have been able to drag himself out of bed without Kyungsoo there to hold onto.

With his left side raw and bruised, crumpling under the smallest amount of pressure, Jongin has no other choice but to tell his parents. Just like he dreaded, his mother is in an instant panic over him, and Jongin doesn't say a single word as she and Kyungsoo drag him to the doctor’s office.

Even in the times he doesn’t need to, when no one else is touching him, Jongin keeps a tight clutch on Kyungsoo’s arm. He holds on for the whole ride, and throughout the long wait in the reception room, where the overhead television drones news on the building storm. As they’re sitting on the examination bed and the doctor bends his unwrapped foot left and right mercilessly, Jongin has his nails dug in tighter than ever, and he doesn’t fail to notice the coldness that the doctor treats him with. Her eyes avoid Jongin’s, constantly flicking back to the hold he has on Kyungsoo, and her only comments are directing to Jongin’s mother who sits behind them. It might only be Jongin’s imagination, though, that’s shoving the guilt burning in his face back down on him.

Her diagnosis is given abruptly, after barely five minutes must have passed in the office. Damage to the lateral ligament, a query grade 2 or 3 ankle sprain, and a hip contusion with possible fracturing- nothing that Jongin didn’t expect, but her curt words still shatter the last remaining hope he was cradling onto. Nodding numbly to her instructions, Jongin is strapped into an ankle brace until at least his follow-up appointment in two weeks, and then they’re being rushed out, the new weight wringing Jongin’s injury down even further.

Jongin leaves the building with countless papers stuffed in his back pocket- a pamphlet on daily stretches that’s identical to the one he received last time, a prescription for stronger pain medication, an X-ray referral for both his hip and ankle that he can’t use, and the signed certificate stating that he will not be able to dance for the next four weeks.

Supported by the shoulders of his mom and Kyungsoo, they step outside, back into the darkened shadows and the pouring rain, Jongin’s heart left completely hollow and his breath impossible to catch.

Even as he’s settled back into bed with pillows and a hot drink, while Kyungsoo gently rests against his good side and scrolls through movies to watch, Jongin still feels panicked- unbearably wrong. His every fibre is screaming with it, only spurred on by the pounding of the storm against his window, and they refuse to quiet until he wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s arm, again, where his hand stays.

They spend that Saturday curled close together, Jongin’s head leant to rest on Kyungsoo’s shoulder as random movies play by, as he drifts in and out of sleep. Each time Jongin wakes up, from softly wading out of the fog or jolting back by a strike of thunder, the world outside only seems to be raging more loudly, the last traces of light long washed away. But with Kyungsoo’s warmth pressed to his skin and the two of them locked alone in the middle of the endless night, Jongin’s more close to whole than he has in a long time. The pieces in his chest feel like they’ve almost stitched themselves together, except for one aching gap- knowing that it won’t last.

By Sunday afternoon, after all of Jongin’s protests, Kyungsoo insists that he has to go back to Joonmyun’s. ‘It’s to make sure Baekhyun hasn’t done anything,’ he reasons, and Jongin wants to be understanding, has felt Kyungsoo grow more and more on edge with the passing hours, but-

After the whole day and morning spent attached to Kyungsoo’s side, barely letting them separate for more than a few minutes, Jongin can’t let go of him that easily- not when the thought of being alone has his stomach lurching in fear, in a flurry of nerves. He can feel himself clung onto Kyungsoo harder than ever, like he’s forcing away the weeks they were apart, and even if Jongin hates himself for it, he doesn’t stop arguing until Kyungsoo finally, with a look of pity, gives in.

Because of all the weather warnings, Jongin only has to do a quick _Naver_ search to see that the buses in the city have been shut down. With roadblocks and flooded subway stations, the only other way to get to Gangnam is for Jongin to hang his head and try begging his parents for a lift through the worst part of the storm, which his mom refuses to drive into. At the last moment, though, just before he trudges back upstairs to disappoint Kyungsoo, to wait what could be days until the skies clear, Jongin’s dad agrees.

As Kyungsoo rides in the passenger’s seat, Jongin keeps his hands firmly laid over the old crutches they found stashed away in the garage, his nerves throbbing the whole way over as he fails to make out anything past the dark fog on the glass. With the volume turned up to full, the radio scrapes down the sides of his head, a woman’s voice pushing it’s way in and out of static, barely heard over the pounding of heavy streams over the roof of the car.

“- another landslide was reported in Umyeondong this morning, with six people now missing-”

“- the Han river continues to rise as more roads are flooded-”

“- this is the worst storm to affect Seoul in the past five years, and meteorologists are still unsure of the cause or when it will end-”

Gasping sharply, Jongin’s chest twists as their car jerks to a stop, the rumble of the engine turned off and the lights darkened. As Kyungsoo quickly thanks his father and steps out into the rain, darting through the fog to grab their bags from the boot, Jongin’s eyes meet his dad’s frown in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t drive anywhere,” his dad warns, almost shouting over the noise outside. “Stay inside until the weather clears, okay?”

“Y-yes. We will,” Jongin promises, dropping his gaze back down.

The downpour is deafening as Jongin’s door is suddenly pulled open, gusts of stark humidity racing into the car. Shuffling as fast as he can without hurting his strapped ankle, Jongin lunges out and into the harsh ripping winds, his dad’s words- “you need to look after yourself better-” cut short as Kyungsoo slams the door after him.

Shielded under the umbrella, as soon as Jongin’s standing upright, he latches his grasp onto Kyungsoo again, one crutch wedged under his arm and the other carried in Kyungsoo’s. It’s less balanced this way, cold bullets of water forcing him to squint, but Jongin is desperate for the comfort that it lends him as the two of them stagger forward.

The lines of rain lit up for one moment, Jongin’s vision flashes white as his dad starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, tires screeching against wet tar until the sound is swallowed away with a crash of thunder.

“Careful,” Kyungsoo yells, steadying Jongin by the small of his back as they reach the first stairs.

But with his teeth gritted, Jongin is desperate to hurry them out of the wind and the constant flickers of lightning, even if he feels like he’ll slip along the wet board planks in his haste.

Staggering inside into brightness, Jongin takes in a deep lungful of fresh air, panting to clear the thick layers of heat clogged down his throat. He can already hear the laughs and chatter filtering down the hallway, but there’s something off, something about this house that’s already creeping down his spine that makes Jongin want to turn around, to rush back into the torrents and get lost deep inside the summer storm, where at least Kyungsoo can hold his hand.

With a bang, the crackling is suddenly shut out as Kyungsoo muffles the noises behind them. Only a dull pounding is left in their place, Jongin’s heart sprinting painfully fast to match. By the expression on Kyungsoo’s face, Jongin can sense that he must feel the same tension, but Kyungsoo has his eyes fixed on the floor, on the walls, on everything but him, and it’s like the signal between them has turned to white static.

At Kyungsoo’s vague nod, Jongin swallows past his aching throat and starts down the corridor, Kyungsoo following closely, looming behind him like a shadow. The further into the darkness they walk, the worse the interference grows, its harsh scratching caught in Jongin’s ears, broken apart with sharp pulses of red until the blinding lights come into view.

Stunned for a moment, Jongin has to blink to adjust to the warped movements and the distorted sounds in the living room. As flashes of lightning from past the glass wall fade, everything focuses at once, oversaturated in colors and stark outlines. The space is brighter and busier than ever, and Jongin bites back a shudder just at the amount of figures waiting ahead of him, the deafening clash of their voices fighting against the battering of the clock hung beside him.

Jongin’s vision waivers, jolting every direction as his mind tries to piece together the details, to translate them into faces he can recognize- Jongdae and Baekhyun are leaned over the back of the couch, their yells at him mixed into one high-pitched tone- Yixing and Joonmyun are hidden as statues behind- and then Jongin’s gaze jumps, to Sehun starting to stand up. His friend’s actions are delayed, unnatural, as he stares straight at Jongin with a pain in his eyes that Jongin can’t make sense of-

Suddenly, a hold presses to the back of Jongin's arm and the words finally separate, beating down on him all at once from where he hadn’t even realized he’d frozen-

"- did the storm break your foot?" someone- Baekhyun- grates out.

"- hey, you gonna let me race you on those crutches?" Jongdae shouts, his laugh loud enough to make Jongin flinch away, teeth gritted and chest choked too tight.

Kyungsoo's fingers remain firm on his bare skin, Jongin able to sense his stiffness from just the small amount of contact, and he keeps his glance fixed down as Sehun walks towards them.

"Are you alright, man?" Sehun asks, stopped hesitantly.

Glancing up, Jongin can see the concern etched into his friend’s face, the pity in the way his hands hover out to help Jongin. As curtly as he can, Jongin nods once, stepping around Sehun and moving to the empty couch.

“But seriously, what did you do?” Baekhyun asks when Jongin is slowly lowering himself with a hand braced on the armrest, his whole body screeching from the waist down the further he bends.

“Twisted my ankle in the dance studio,” Jongin clips, his sight flooded with red streaks as he desperately tries to keep the strain out of his voice.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Baekhyun swears, Jongin ignoring him to inhale through the sharp stings in his side, his pulse left pounding when he finally sinks down into the cushions. “I feel your pain, man. I can’t even count how many times I’ve fractured something-”

Too harshly, Kyungsoo lets the crutches clatter to the floor, loud enough to splinter Jongin’s skull and wring a shock through his whole body, and he only tenses up more when Kyungsoo takes the place beside him, the leather couch shifting as both he and Sehun sit down.

“Is there anything you need, Jongin?”

The sounds take a second to morph into words, past the clashes of thunder from outside, and Jongin cranes his head over. Blinking away the white spots, he waits for Joonmyun’s concerned face to come into view, and the sincerity he’s met with makes Jongin’s lungs seize shut.

“- just get him some ice and he’ll be fine,” Baekhyun interrupts. “It’s too bad our miracle healer’s out of action, huh?” Automatically, Jongin’s tugged to better look at Yixing’s hunched form beside Joonmyun, and Yixing can only blink back at him lazily.

Curled into the armrest, Yixing looks small, weakened, a blanket draped over his shoulders and his eyes glazed over. There’s barely a trace of the famed person Jongin first saw a month before, his face drained of all color and warmth, but he still offers Jongin a paper-thin smile, one that Jongin has to turn away from.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Jongin says blankly, to whoever’s still listening. Over the weight that feels like it’s closing in on him, tight enough that his lungs could burst, Jongin can’t tell.

“Suit yourself. Hey, at least it wasn’t your actual leg. Now _that_ hurts like hell.” His ears pounding, Jongin doesn’t bother reacting to Baekhyun’s words. “But just a few weeks and it’ll be all fixed, right? We just need to keep Yeollie away from that in the meantime,” he jokes, and against the pressure digging into his head, Jongin strains himself to take a glance at Chanyeol, who he didn’t realize was scrunched up between Jongdae and Baekhyun, his large frame now hunched over to be as small as possible.

“Can’t be putting heat on that injury,” Baekhyun taunts, slinging an arm over Chanyeol’s shoulder with a grin that’s too big for his face, Chanyeol's own twisted and flared red before it’s ducked and hidden under a mess of hair.

Jongin can hear laughter prickle over his skin, and he returns his gaze to his lap, letting his vision swim and the sounds wash over him-

“Hey, we’re just teasing, Yeol, it’s all good- we’re all friends here-”

Beside Jongin, Kyungsoo is sitting rigid, the distance between them small enough that Jongin could easily reach over and tug apart Kyungsoo’s tightly clenched fists. But right now, Jongin can’t find a way to cross it, to find him. The thunder keeps rumbling overhead, tearing the gap between them further and further, Jongin’s vision switching between white and black against his control as he’s stranded alone. His heart is still aching, still throbbing down to his hip and fighting to keep up with the stabbing of the clock, and all Jongin can do is curl in on himself, spacing each breath ten rushed ticks apart to spare his lungs from the fire.

“- so, you two, what’s the storm like, now?” Baekhyun cuts in with, Jongin wincing as he’s forced into frame, again.

“It’s bad,” Kyungsoo states curtly, before Jongin’s even tried to dig for his voice, and he sinks back down in the smallest relief.

“ _Oh, it’s bad_ ,” Baekhyun mocks in a faked Jeolla accent, before he cackles. “C’mon, man, I can see that. But is it bad enough that we’re all getting out of uni tomorrow?”

“Dude, neither of them even go,” Jongdae complains, and Baekhyun’s shocked gasp pangs a raw nerve in Jongin’s chest.

“Seriously?! How’d you manage to pull that off?” Baekhyun yells, his words thrashing just as loud as the rain against the window. “Damn, my parents would have _killed_ me if I didn’t enrol.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’ve been a trainee for five years, now, and you still haven’t debuted-”

“Hey!” Baekhyun snaps, Jongdae's laugh piercing over him. Beside Kyungsoo, Jongin hears Sehun let out a low chuckle, too, and he silently clenches his fists in his lap, wishing that he could shove all the noises back under the deafening cover of night- “You try going to all of your classes and then dancing your ass off for six hours straight-”

“I’m just joking, dude, chill,” Jongdae shoots back. “We’re all getting the week off to do whatever the fuck we want, anyway.”

“Well, they said that all the lectures will still be online-” Sehun tries to add on before Jongdae shuts him back out.

“- and Baek, I swear to god- if we’re gonna be stuck in _here_ for that whole time, then I’m gonna lose my shit. No offense, you guys.”

“- hey hey, give me some credit, man. No one’s stuck anywhere, alright? I’ve got plenty of fun ideas up my sleeve-”

“Yeah, and look, now! It’s pissing out there! _Fuck_ , why did you drag us here?” Jongdae bites out, all of his joking tone ripped away and his words stabbing deep into Jongin’s temples. “You should have known this would happen-”

“Aw, c’mon, Dae,” Baekhyun whines, unphased. “You saw it on the way over. The storm isn’t even that bad on the other side of the river! I swear it only got worse when you pulled into Gangnam-”

“Yeah, and I can’t drive back through that shit anymore-”

With a sudden bolt of thunder, striking down hard enough to make the whole earth quiver, the room turns black and calls twist in shock, Jongin’s throat hitching as he’s abandoned in empty space, wrenching around to try and find anything through the ringing silence-

“- holy fuck! Did you guys hear that?!” Jongdae exclaims over the chaos, just as the ceiling lights switch back on.

The room is dimmed to yellow tones as the bulbs flicker on and off above them, Jongin snapped still and forced to watch them, his neck aching as he can finally shudder a painful breath through his ribcage.

“Okay, everyone, don’t panic, that was all me,” Baekhyun assures boastfully. “Yixing, you can go back to sleep, now-”

“Oh, bullshit,” Jongdae yells, voice climbing high enough to reach the rumbles of the sky. “More like the storm hit the fucking power lines and now we’re all fucked-”

“Hey, if the lights go out, I’ve got you covered,” Baekhyun assures, and as his tensed spine creaks in protest, Jongin lowers his head to watch them, his heartbeat still panging with the aftershocks, the unending pace of the storm-

“Don’t even try that. Your power’s a fucking joke and we all know it,” Jongdae snaps, and Jongin catches something dark shifting in Baekhyun’s face- his pulse jolted for the split second it lasts.

“You want to bet on that?” Baekhyun whispers straight into Jongin’s head, the sudden sinister dip in his tone plunging Jongin back into black.

“God- you’re pissing me off, right now,” Jongdae spits out, the sky around them cracked open in white streaks as Jongin is left in muted shock. “Gramps, I need a room to crash in-”

“Okay okay, stop there,” Baekhyun states firmly. Blinded, breathless, Jongin can feel his whole body being jerked upright when bright white floods back over him, burning into his eyes- “Just calm down, alright? I’ll drive you somewhere myself.”

“But, I don’t think any of us should be leaving-” Joonmyun tries, barely strong enough to make out-

“Yo,, Kyungsoo-” Baekhyun starts, instantly clutching Jongin’s lungs in a scorching grip, the air around them stolen away with a burst of thunder. “You know anything about _Achasan_ forest?”

“- Jesus, not this again.”

“Just hear me out, Dae,” Baekhyun shoots back as Jongin buries his face in his palms, vision stinging red-

“No, I don’t,” Kyungsoo states, his voice impatient but unbearably far away from Jongin-

"I thought you were the nature expert?” Baekhyun mocks, unphased, crystal clear, and Jongin doesn’t let himself breathe in yet, not when he can feel the tension of the room trying to force him back under- “It’s on a mountain not far from here, next to my elementary school. There used to be a fortress there, right? Way back when the three kingdoms were at war over Seoul-” Bursting down harder than ever, the lightning explodes through the shards of glass, Jongin finally gasping in from shock. “You still with me, or am I going too fast?" Left panting, Jongin snaps his head up to look at Kyungsoo, at his venous glower aimed at Baekhyun. “Alright, well the armies kept fighting in that forest, and hundreds of soldiers were killed there-”

“So?” Kyungsoo hisses out.

“So? So people say that there’s a _dalgyal guishin_ hiding in that forest.” Someone lets out a dry laugh- one that stabs an ice-cold knife into Jongin’s neck- “They think it’s the spirit of a soldier that no one mourned. Now, it only comes out when it rains, just like on the night that his body died,” Baekhyun taunts, just as the storm flashes past again, blinding Jongin except for- “What? do you not think that ghosts are real?”

“Does _anybody_ who’s not five?” Jongdae scoffs back, Jongin snapped back to see Chanyeol flinching away as Jongdae falls back into his seat- but Jongin swears that there was something in front of him-

“I mean, I’ve always believed in ghosts,” Sehun offers quietly.

“Gramps, what about you-”

All of the sounds twist out of shape at once, Jongin deafened to nothing but what he swears is a high-pitched wail- loud enough to have him starting- plastering his hands over his ears until it abruptly disappears-

“- pardon me?”

“I wanna know if you think ghosts exist.”

“Oh... I-”

For one second, the storm turns quiet- only a piercing ring stuffed into Jongin’s head- threatening to rip it apart- Jongin terrified of it twisting into another scream-

“I think that many of us are being haunted,” Joonmyun says, the words hollow and echoing loudly in the sudden darkness, suddenly morphing into a faceless figure too close-

Reeling back, Jongin jolts into reality with a crash to his side, his ears left thumping as he digs his nails into the stiff fabric. _Ghosts-_ Jongin hates the stories, he always has- but this- this feels too real- every part of him shaking, clattering-

“- this is so stupid-”

“What? Are you scared?”

“ _No_ , I’m just not an _idiot_.”

Choking in a breath, Jongin can’t battle the tension that’s ticking in his throat, a clashing of the clock and the rainfall against the windows, it’s rhythm racing over his heartbeat-

“You, me, and Chanyeol, let’s go ghost hunting, tonight.”

“Do not drag Chanyeol into this,” Kyungsoo warns, his tone cutting deep enough to sever Jongin’s nerves apart-

“Aw, Soo, don’t be jealous. You and Jongin can come too if you want-”

Rushing to look over, Jongin is seared with the foulest glare from Chanyeol- his blood thrown under boiling fire even when his gaze has lurched away-

“Yeah, sorry, Sehun. Powers only-”

The air is wringing itself tighter, Jongin finding it impossible to breathe as he claws at his shirt to free his lungs-

“Why can’t we just go home?”

Desperate to escape, Jongin searches left and right- needing any way out- the new force of the storm making the floor shake, the walls clatter and hurtle in towards him-

“Jongin...” With a warmth flooded across his arm- everything shrinks back at once, the gentle touch spreading through his veins to brighten even the coldest corners of his mind. Blinking the last dots away, Jongin can make out Kyungsoo’s worried face staring at him, can hear the rain pouring outside and the thumping of his own pulse fade from his ears.

“Man, are you alright there?”

Reluctantly, Jongin breaks eye contact to look behind them, at the other faces watching, judging, and then at Chanyeol whose head is still hung low, like he never moved.

“I…” Jongin’s throat is hoarse, and he swallows, wincing at how it scratches down the sides of his dry mouth. “Yeah I just. Headache.”

“Tell me about it, man,” Jongdae cuts in. “It’s so fucking _loud_ in here-”

“Jongin-” Meeting his gaze again, Jongin’s breath catches from the closeness of Kyungsoo’s face, his next words whispered for only Jongin to hear over the torrents. “Do you want to go up to my room?”

As Kyungsoo draws his hand away to stand up, Jongin can barely nod in agreement, the blood all draining out of him and leaving his body hollow for the thunder to fill-

“Where are you two going?” Baekhyun asks harshly, but Jongin can’t answer, his every muscle bound in fear, vision throbbing black and red so that anything could come out and attack him-

A sharp sting of ice bites into his skin, Jongin yanking his gaze up immediately. But it’s only Kyungsoo, resting the crutches against his firmly clenched fists, and Jongin can see how torn he looks.

“I’ll be there soon,” Kyungsoo promises him, the words echoing empty, and Jongin has to turn away as he takes his crutches, his ankle pounding from the way he shoves himself up, too fast to stop his heart from crashing down.

Wrenching through them without another word, Jongin fights past the heavy stares, the blind spots, the faded scream that rattles from down the front corridor- jarringly similar to a child’s voice, enough to split Jongin’s head apart.

The clock is still beating down deafeningly loud, desperately rushed as he passes it by, spurring Jongin on even faster as the last time bleeds out- almost gone -

 

✴

 

\- the last colors stolen away with it. Jongin watches them die, as the wall in front of him drains of the fading light, giving in to the shield of the storm clouds, until all Jongin can see is a blank slate of gray. The thunderclaps never end, not following with flashes, anymore, and Jongin doesn’t have the chance to catch his breath, his vision only bleeding dark into darker- deeper and deeper like a hand is pulling him in by the throat-

“Jongin?”

With a sudden jolt, the lights turn on, flooding the room in artificial white so blinding that Jongin has to seeth into his hand. His eyes burn hollow- stabbing red- and it takes too long to focus back on the silhouette looming by the door.

“You could have turned the lamp on,” Kyungsoo states, his words laid heavy across the beating rain.

As Jongin blinks away the last of the overflow, he can finally meet Kyungsoo’s even gaze, the rest fallen into place around him.

“I…” With a long breath in, cold air rippling to the bottom of his chest, Jongin manages to dig out his buried voice again. “I didn’t think of that.”

Clicking the door shut, Kyungsoo starts to march towards him- a clashing roar turning the world white and his movements black- Jongin gasping at the shadow that swallows him whole-

“- others are gone.”

“What?” Jongin rasps out, the sounds echoing- magnified in the hollow space-

“I said the others have gone home,” Kyungsoo repeats, crystal clear as he’s snapped forward to now kneel down in front of Jongin.

Panting, his hands fisted hard at Kyungsoo’s bedcovers to try and centre himself, Jongin watches as Kyungsoo smoothly sits back on his heels, his head ducked so that Jongin can only see the frames of his glasses.

“Jongdae promised me that he would drop Chanyeol at Sehun’s house,” Kyungsoo explains, rustling through Jongin’s bag that he must have brought with him until he sets aside a bandage roll.

With a twisted wince, Jongin scrunches his eyes shut as Kyungsoo lays a gentle palm on his shin, just above the muscles that are already arching in dread.

“It would have been easier if Chanyeol just wanted to stay here,” Kyungsoo states, the anger laced through his curt tone, his grip on Jongin digging in too deep as he rips apart the velcro straps of his ankle brace, loud enough that Jongin hisses- “But he insisted on sending Sehun home. Now, I have no choice except to trust Jongdae, and I don’t know what Baekhyun might convince him to do,” Kyungsoo grits out, the storm pounding with every rushed beat of Jongin’s heart.

His lungs aching, Jongin barely has the chance to breathe in before the agony bursts through him with a strike of thunder- wrenching his foot and spurting fire through his veins-

“Jongin, hold still-”

“I promise I’ll be fast-”

 _I can’t- can’t-_ The words are silent, muted from behind a wall of blinding static, crackling currents, Jongin plunged somewhere amongst the flickering whites. There’s nothing to make out here- no oxygen, no time- all of it already ripped away- everything else shattering into fragments of glass-

He can’t feel the shift until it’s too late, the waves of black surging into one distorted figure and instantly crashing down on him, battering as thousands of bullets that pierce through his skin- washing deafening red streams into the hurricane-  

“I’m done.”

Letting out a dry sob, one that strangles the flames in his chest, Jongin doubles over, thrown back into the present. Pain is throbbing through his body, fast and insistent, the lights warped circles in his eyes as the details slowly twist and separate.

“Are you alright?” Kyungsoo murmurs, his voice distant, waning, and Jongin forces himself to look down, to blink until he can see the worry scarred across Kyungsoo’s expression. “Jongin?”

“Yeah- yeah it just-” The syllables sound pulled from the thickened air, not from his own closed throat, and Jongin sucks in a shaky breath, unable to feel the strain over the searing heat. “Just hurts a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says softly, his gaze darted away. “Is it worse than yesterday?”

Gravity pulling him down, Jongin hunches forward, spots swimming as he takes in the sight of his ankles. The difference in size is worse than ever, his bounding pulse fighting against the ropes surrounding it, hammering through his nerves, his stomach heaving from the sickness- and Jongin lunges an arm forward, trying to stop Kyungsoo before-

Seizing back, the lightning flashes all around him as burning icicles are shoved between his bones- Jongin left with nothing to grip onto, his fingers blindly grasping back for the bed until Kyungsoo’s hand catches his.

“Breathe,” Kyungsoo instructs, and Jongin immediately crumples- the gasps wracking his body and flooding his chest with cold rainwater.

As Jongin stays there, choking and wringing his hair, forcing himself to inhale through the fire and exhale through the frost, Kyungsoo strokes gentle lines across his palm, his kind murmurs lost somewhere under the rage of the night sky.

After enough time has rushed away, enough beats slashed into Jongin’s skull, the pain starts to creep back like it always does, until it’s shrunken to a thrum inside his flesh and Jongin can finally let his shoulders droop, his hands falter.

Without a word, Jongin feels the softness of Kyungsoo’s fingers brushing against his cheek, cooling the redness with tears that Jongin didn’t even know he’d shed.

“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo murmurs, though Jongin could have imagined the letters painted across his closed eyelids- white against dark red.

“I’m alright, now,” he assures, his voice hoarse, a hand coming up to cradle Kyungsoo’s against his jaw, trapping in the warmth just as the next thunderclap hits-

Deafeningly loud, the attack rattles the room, clawing at the sides of his mind, and Jongin grits his teeth throughout it, face twisted even as Kyungsoo soothes him through wave after wave of the world crumbling down. The showers afterwards are just as scathing, pelting like rocks against the window behind them and drowning everything out, Jongin’s eyes kept firmly shut and pulsing faster than he can keep up with-

“- let me close the curtains-”

Jongin can only nod, grasping tighter for a second before he lets Kyungsoo’s hand go, the comfort draining away instantly to leave him as an empty cage.

"It’s stronger than ever-" His words thud down on Jongin as he collapses further in on himself, panic rising from the ground to choke his empty veins-

Suddenly, his sight flares red- a black shadow too close and threatening to reach between the bars and tear out his thrashing pulse. Jerking back- Jongin barely misses, feeling the rush of wind almost catch on his ribs-

“- _Jongin-_ ” Kyungsoo yells, Jongin frantically grappling for air as his sight brightens, showing Kyungsoo rushed to him with a stricken expression. “What happened?”

Jongin’s heart is throbbing, desperate to jump out of his skin, the cold fingerprints lingering along his chest, and he just doesn’t know-

“What happened?” Kyungsoo urges again, taking the place next to him on the bed, their shoulders bumping with a deep pang.

“I- I saw-” Jongin’s voice is strangled, not his own, and he curls forward, his hands trembling in his hair. This is too much- Jongin too scared to close his eyes again, to say what his every cell is screaming at him- Joonmyun’s speech echoing through his head like a broken record- _many of us-_ glitch- _many of us are being haunted-_ glitch- _haunted-_

“Is there a ghost in this house?” Jongin whispers out, praying that his thoughts are suffocated under the thunder.

“A ghost?”

It sounds so stupid- and Jongin’s breaths are faint, scratched dry, his whole body crushed under the weight of it- the same words skipping-

“No, there’s no ghost,” Kyungsoo states firmly, and the track screeches to a halt. “I promise you-”

“I think I’ve been seeing things,” Jongin rasps out, the words bursting from his lungs before the fear can close in and bury them forever-

“What sort of things?” Kyungsoo asks immediately, and Jongin has to sink down deeper, the storm latched onto him by the skin of his neck.

“I- I don’t know-” his voice is in shreds, teeth chattering too quickly, but he forces it out past the barriers- “Things that aren’t there- forests, fires- the lights flash-”

With a strangled cry, the world blackens with a crack- abandoning Jongin for a brief second as sharp knives jab him from every angle, hands forcing him under-

Suddenly, he’s pulled out, Kyungsoo’s fingers wrapped firmly around his aching wrist and centring him, and all the colors start to flood back.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin croaks out, the apology scalding his mouth.

“Don’t be,” Kyungsoo assures. His thumb strokes across the veins on the inside of Jongin’s arm, quieting the howl of the rain just enough that Jongin can gasp down a breath. “You aren’t the only one.”

Swallowing past the thundering pulse in his throat, Jongin steals a look at Kyungsoo through his fringe, his eyes stinging with hot water that he has to blink away-

“Joonmyun and Chanyeol-” Kyungsoo insists, his gaze pressing hard and his lips twisted in pain. “They’ve had similar things happen over the past few weeks-”

The sky rages furiously- jerking Jongin out of Kyungsoo’s grip and stealing a sob from his throat.

“But _why_?” Jongin demands, hollow letters forced out through the shaking of his body, beaten down by the torrents.

“Zitao- it’s from Zitao being nearby. And it’s the energy of the house-” Kyungsoo speaks too fast, his words tumbling over each other and crashing with the falling rain, colliding into Jongin’s heartbeat. “All of our powers have been brought too close together, and everything’s been thrown off balance- the time, the weather- and this storm is the worst one yet.”

“But when’s it going to _stop_?” Jongin begs to know, and he swears he can hear the hitch in Kyungsoo’s breathing, feel the regret scarring his face.

“I… I don’t know,” Kyungsoo admits, the trembling sigh he lets out burning against Jongin’s cheeks. His vision squeezed shut, Jongin flinches away from the lightning, another violent shock ripped down his spine. “I wish I did.”

“I’m scared-” Jongin whispers, the lights flickering non-stop as the last chords in his chest weaken, stretched thin enough that he could finally snap- “I haven’t- haven’t felt like myself.”

Silently, Kyungsoo’s hand slips into his own, their fingers lacing together to press to Jongin’s beating temple, and Jongin has to bite on his lip to stop himself from breaking to pieces.

“What about right now? With- with me?” Kyungsoo’s voice is hesitant, the waiver barely loud enough to hear, and slowly, Jongin opens his eyes again.

Darkened, shadowed, Kyungsoo’s stare holds a new weight that Jongin has never seen before, but that he dives straight into without thinking, letting the rush of wind envelop him whole. Here, the brightness is deafening, just enough to over-wash the chaos of the world outside until there’s only a faint ringing left in Jongin’s ears, his heart suspended in mid-air.

Their hold on each other is tight, the wounds stitched and the pain long-faded, and here, the only thing in focus is Kyungsoo- the closeness of their faces blinding Jongin to everything else, so that he’s never felt safer.

“It’s... better,” Jongin says quietly, his voice a gentle hum in his throat, and the way Kyungsoo’s mouth softens is worth it.

“Me too,” he confesses, breathing his words out in something like warm relief, Jongin flooded with it from the centre of his chest.

For what could be a second- a minute, their gazes stay locked, their breaths shared between them, just before Kyungsoo shyly dips to look lower than Jongin’s eyes. Jongin follows to see Kyungsoo’s lips quietly falter, parting open, their linked hands only winding further together.

He doesn’t know who starts to lean in first, the two of them pulled towards each other in slow-motion, in silence, with nothing but gravity drawing them closer. There’s only a high pitch and white space as Jongin closes his eyes and soars through the breathless air, his only hope that Kyungsoo will be there to catch him on the other end-

The illusion breaks with an earth-shattering noise, and the taut pull on his heart is snapped in two, leaving Jongin to freefall as Kyungsoo is wrenched away with thunder and black lightning-

“Shit,” Kyungsoo swears- his voice harsh against the emptiness that’s rushing up to grab Jongin- to swallow him whole-

Gunfire bellows and oceans roar- Jongin blindly trapped in the middle of a hurricane, his throat clawed out as he scrambles for where Kyungsoo was against the deafening winds-

“The power-” Kyungsoo starts, broken off as he stops Jongin with a firm touch to his arm, the lights slamming back on.

“What?” Jongin rasps out- his lungs finally able to work in the pounding flood of color.

“The electricity went out,” Kyungsoo huffs out- even when Jongin can see everything- every line of annoyance etched into Kyungsoo’s face, Jongin’s whole body electrified with it- “Stay here. I’ll find Joonmyun and ask him what to do.”

“Don’t-” Jongin rushes out, nails dug into Kyungsoo’s palm before he can stand. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Kyungsoo assures, and Jongin has to shut his eyes to the stinging guilt as his grip is gently pried off, letting himself be shut back into the storm. “I promise.”

Jongin can only nod, his head thrashing as he buries it in his hands, unable to hear the moment when Kyungsoo leaves, if he leaves at all, the shame of what Jongin almost pushed onto him boiling over. Thunder keeps slashing above, gouging into Jongin’s skull and through the holes in his ribcage, the shadows crashing in bigger and bigger waves as he’s pinned down- helpless-

“Joonmyun, the lights-”

“- we have to hurry- Kyungsoo, we have to leave now-”

The voices claw through the gaps, their words jilted and foreign- Jongin with no idea of which direction they’re coming from- of the moment when he lost his hold on reality, only silhouettes rippling against black static-

“Stop, slow down- what happened?”

“Jongdae just- h-he called and said there’s a fire. He’s trapped- he can't move- and Chanyeol and Baekhyun-”

Jaw clenched shut, Jongin prays that it’s all wrong- everything- what he heard, what he did- that this is another twisted game his head is creating- forcing him to play-

“Alright. Meet me downstairs.”

Without warning, Kyungsoo bursts back into the room, lightning flashing to brand his outline in Jongin's mind.

“A fire?” Jongin whispers, voice faltering as he stares at Kyungsoo rummaging through the top drawer, racing to grab something.

"Baekhyun did this- I know he did," Kyungsoo hisses out, the venom spitting down the cracks in Jongin's scalp- too real, too painful. Wood scrapes as Kyungsoo slams the dresser shut with his phone in hand, and he rushes up to Jongin before having to steady himself, panting, the raw panic in his eyes illuminated in the dark. "Stay here, okay? We'll be back soon."

"I‘m coming with you," Jongin blurts out, clutching onto Kyungsoo’s arm hard enough that he can’t disappear again.

"Jongin, you shouldn’t-” Kyungsoo pleads, achingly sincere- but every one of Jongin’s muscles tears at the thought of being alone, stranded in this nightmare- “I don't know where they are, and your ankle-"

"But I can’t let you go-" Jongin’s voice breaks, his chest twisted in agonizing knots, and the briefest hesitance flickers past Kyungsoo's face, sparking with a rupture of thunder.

No time left- no space to think, Jongin rushes upwards too fast, stomach lurching and balance almost dropped until Kyungsoo steadies him by the elbow. For once, Kyungsoo doesn't argue with him, instead fumbling to hand Jongin his crutches before rushing ahead to the door. Throwing his weight forward, Jongin follows, the strain pounding from his temples and down every muscle as they stumble down blackened corridor- almost flung downstairs. Every step is a harsh clang against Jongin's bones, a stab in the dark- the wall beating against Jongin's good side as they're flung down the main hallway and out into what has to be the garage- a room where the thunder echoes and the air is suffocatingly wet.

Joonmyun already has the car thrumming- a black mass that Jongin almost clatters into face-first- the headlights on the opposite wall blinding him to the sharp drop in the floor. Whatever Joonmyun's yelling as he scrambles out of the front seat, Jongin can't even make out- noise and more noise battling the frantic throbbing through his blood, the chaos in his head- and as he clatters into the backseat, barely able to breathe in the suffocating smell of new leather, he wrings his fists in his hair, hard enough to come undone.

More doors bang shut, more raw blows to Jongin's ears, and the engine grates down the sides of his skull, jerking his body against the seatbelt as they rush backwards.

"- we've already lost five minutes, maybe more, so we have to hurry." Kyungsoo orders, the streams and streams of water battering against metal loud enough to deafen, to drown out his voice. "I'll call 119 while you drive- do you know where they are?"

The tyres screech and Jongin has to scrunch his nails into the seat as they race forward, his vision bleeding black into white and every nerve crushed too heavy to turn and look out the window-

" _Achasan_ mountain- Jongdae- he said that they parked at the school," Joonmyun stumbles out.

"Of course they did," Kyungsoo seethes bitterly. "I should never have trusted Baekhyun to-"

"You can't blame Baekhyun for this-"

" _Yes I can_!" Kyungsoo shouts, the words piercing sharply into Jongin's chest, glass jarred down his throat. "If you'd just listened to me last week, then this wouldn't be happening, now."

"But he’s in danger- they all are. Jongdae said that there was something following-"

"- yes, hello? I need to speak to the fire department-"

The audio cuts out abruptly, the whole one-sided phone call lost to Jongin's ears, crushed under a tidal wave that bursts Jongin’s throat open, leaving him shaking from the depths of his core, balling further in on himself to quiet down the aftershocks.

Time clashes over the top of him, the seconds- minutes skipping past and distorting under the storm, his consciousness spiraling deeper and deeper until he's completely out of reach, caught breathless under the surface- He grabs at every brief shred of reality he can scrape - nothing but darkness wringing him by the neck and emptying his chest out, and Jongin can't do anything but fade into nothing in his own dream.

"- already on their way-"

“- Jongdae’s not picking up-”

"- how much further?"

\- rifts of lightning break across Jongin’s eyes, plunging everything into white-

"- _Joonmyun, how much further_ -"

"- ten minutes-"

"- watch out!"

Jongin's body jerks left- heart wrung out of place as giant horns blare down on him-

"- be careful-"

"- we're halfway now-"

"- find another way-"

"- there's no _time-"_

\- rubber screams against the roads, shoving aside rainfall and losing footing-

"- five minutes away-"

"- we're almost there-"

"- almost-"

"Oh, _shit._ "

It's Kyungsoo's swear that has Jongin resurfacing, tugged out of the water with a gasp to fill his burning lungs- and then the smell attacks him. Thick smog infiltrates his mouth immediately, clogging his whole chest up with acid and debris, and Jongin is forced to splutter into his hands to try and clear it back out.

"Take this exit," Kyungsoo shouts, and Jongin is flung into hard plastic with the screeching veer to the right, barely grabbed at the door to stop the impact that pounds down his side.

Choking and desperate, Jongin takes a deep mouthful of air, the sides of his throat coating in another layer of smoldered charcoal that he can't swallow past.

Forcing every nerve of his body to unfurl, Jongin cranes his neck up to look out the window- past the rain flecked across the glass, the downpour a light pattering now- and at the sight in the distance, above the city, that makes his insides shrivel to dust, his whole body wanting to vomit them up-

Smoke- monstrous billows of orange and gray that threaten to take over the whole night sky- they expand and curl maliciously, giant clouds rushing up to cover the last of the black. The entire outline of the mountain is marked out- barely lessened by the buildings and lampposts at ground level- the flames from the base blinding white like electric currents, starkly brighter above Seoul’s blues and yellows. Jongin can hear the faint wail of police sirens ahead, but the fire is infinitely worse- now crackling and raging deafeningly in his mind- louder than the storm’s currents could have ever reached-

Without warning, he's thrown backwards, the wind knocked out of him as he's slammed against the seat, a sharp spear shot through his waist and thrashing down his whole side. Panting down bullets, his whole body burning up in sweat- Jongin scrambles to look out the window again- only for the worst of the fire to be hidden behind houses, then the skyscrapers towering behind them, glowing shadows peeking through the jagged gaps of the lightshow.

"This road’s blocked, too," Kyungsoo states, his voice clattering down in a heavy fury, a thousand kilometres away.

Jongin barely has time to brace himself before Joonmyun hits the accelerator, throwing them forward so fast that Jongin's neck is whipped back- the impact a thundering crash that has Jongin crying out blindly-

Racing down the yellow-bathed street, sirens closing in around them, Jongin keeps his hand tightly clenched against the door, heart hammering out of his chest and lungs bleeding ash at the speed they're flying around the corners and cramped lanes-

"That's it- that's the school-" Joonmyun breathes out, every word strained and the car pushed further.

The engine roars red-hot as they barge forward- Jongin shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth as the pressure screeches higher, splitting his head apart at the seams as they plummet straight into the heart of the chaos, Jongin just waiting for the nightmare to end and for them to be pulled out on the other side- back to where they were- he and Kyungsoo sitting alone in his room before-

His vision flashes red as they break through, chest almost collapsing in on itself before Jongin heaves in everything but air- and he flings his eyes open to see that they've stopped moving- their car drowned in dark smoke and the pulsing of rain on the rooftop. Breathless and frantic, Jongin rushes to make out anything through the distorted heat risen around them, the whole world flickering in bent lines until he sees that there's nothing but an empty carpark between them and the blinking red firetrucks. The trail of fire is white and beating furiously- and it's started straight in front of him- almost at the level of the dirt floor- at the first blackened remains of tree trunks, where it climbs upwards to the sky and disappears in orange smog-

Everything is moving around Jongin too fast, all blood rushed from his body and his head left stranded in an endlessly bright mist- and as soon as the car doors are opened, the torrid rushes in- searing against his skin suffocatingly hot and sucking the last of the oxygen out-

Kyungsoo and Joonmyun are already gone- lost somewhere in the smoke where Jongin can't see- and he has to force himself out of it, his entire body trembling and panging as he breaks at the seatbelt and door, hurling his body outside without a single thought left to have- not in this reality-

His bare feet hit blistering hot earth just as the showers pound down on him- sizzling off Jongin's hair and skin in the acrid air he gags down- the water barely felt long enough to give him any relief to the blinding fever.

"Joonmyun!"

It sounds like a wave of thunder, bellowing loud enough to lurch the ground and have Jongin tripping forward- barely digging his crutches into the dirt in time to stop himself from collapsing. His ankle bent and screeching, Jongin can only just squint to see the hazy outline of a figure darting straight into the flames- swallowed whole in a single second with a burst of red as Jongin's mouth drops in pure horror-

His throat instantly flooded with fire, Jongin has to double over and retch up ashes of phlegm, all of it too much to handle- and he's almost let himself clatter to the floor to hurl up whatever's in his empty stomach when someone grabs him by the arm- heat against more heat- and he squints through the blur at the oranges flickering across Kyungsoo's gray-streaked cheeks-

"God-" Jongin chokes out- no idea how else to speak when there's no air left- "Was that-"

"Joonmyun wouldn't listen to me-" Kyungsoo insists, yelling to be heard over the crackling- the burning- the ripping of the wind and the bashing of the rain- "He ran in to help Jongdae-"

"What do we do-" Jongin cries out, his chest seizing up, threatening to explode as he uses the last shreds of oxygen left in his blood- "Do we- do we go after him- _fuck, h_ ow do we save everyone-"

"Jongin, breathe-" He _can't_ , there's _nothing_ to breathe, there's only fire, steam- smoke and more smoke blocking everything else out- "There are firefighters everywhere- I told Joonmyun where Jongdae is- he just has to guide them.”

Jongin wants so badly to trust him, to be allowed to give up- so he does, offering nothing but a weak nod, the chords in his throat stretched too thin, throbbing too fast. With a hand firmly pressed to the back of Jongin's back, Kyungsoo helps him stand up, the shroud bashing down intense enough that Jongin wants to flatten himself to the dirt.

"Chanyeol’s alone- I have to find him before anyone else does-" Kyungsoo rushes out, flashes of fire glowing in his amber eyes, behind fogged frames- and Jongin can't hear himself think- can't make out anything except the panic in Kyungsoo's voice- the urgency spurring cold adrenaline through Jongin’s singed veins. "You should stay in the car- for when Joonmyun comes back-"

Frantically, Jongin shakes his head-

“ _Please,”_ Kyungsoo begs. “Please stay-” but no part of Jongin can let himself- even if he can’t force his throat to say it- and something in Kyungsoo’s expression breaks as he realizes.

He doesn't say anything else, instead darting forward so fast that Jongin is almost knocked to the floor- catching himself at the last minute to stumble deeper into the clog of fire, the soles of his feet scalding as he's led further away from anything that could relieve his lungs.

Kyungsoo veers left of the stretch of flames, away from the flurry of figures obscured in smoke on the other side- muffled shouting and orders barely reaching above the outroar - and Jongin has to duck his head to the onslaught of white fumes, spluttering into his aching chest while still forcing himself forwards. He can't feel any of the rain now- all drowned out by the blaze- his skin threatening to peel off in sheets of ash-

The fog is blinding Jongin, the gray unbearably thick and stuffed down every airway- and he can barely make out where the ground raises up into mountain, Jongin battered to his knees before he seethes through the pain of righting himself. All the tears in his eyes have shriveled before they were shed, and now he can't bear to keep them open, having to fling his crutches over barriers and crash down into holes as he struggles to climb upward, his bad ankle snagging and crying over every obstacle. His skull is pounding- hard enough that he would scream in agony if he could, and Jongin doesn't know how he'll make it-

He won't. A part of Jongin screams this from the pit of his starved core, radiating down to his numbed, trembling limbs. He should turn back now- dive for cover- bury himself in the soil-- _find air-_ but Jongin's lost too deep in the smog, stranded alone in this hell- his body staggering on with an energy he can't stop, that he _needs_ to find a way to stop- to get to Kyungsoo and make them both quit before it's too late-

But he has no idea where Kyungsoo is, his sight flying open to only be filled with stinging wind- everything an endless mass of red, and Jongin's overpowered, helpless as it crushes him down until he's being swallowed alive by the earth-

Weight bores into him, jolting Jongin out of the clawing fingers of smoke with a useless gasp- hitting the brick wall lodged in Jongin's throat. It's Kyungsoo- Jongin doesn't have to see him to know- to let the grip clenched on his bare arm shove them both down a new path, one foot faltering over the uneven forest, barely stabilized in Kyungsoo's hands as the blistering waves of flames lift off with the passing seconds, still not giving enough room for air to slip in-

Heart beating out of his chest, raging even louder than the fire behind them, Jongin can't keep battling through more of this- through every attack on his lungs as his breaths draw up nothing- and it's with the last of his strength, against the pressure against his chest, his limbs, the panic spitting through his veins- that Jongin finally lets himself collapse, toppling down to meet the ground- fingers scraping on bark and legs twisting in roots- the pain muted in the breakdown of his pulse.

"Jongin-" Kyungsoo's voice is blurry, warped- Jongin's own strangled dry before it's muffled under a damp cloth of heat. "Can you breathe?"

Almost- he can almost pull something into his mouth, something mixed in against the debris, and Jongin's gaze flickers open to darkness- faintly-lit smoke clouding above Kyungsoo's head and up to the branches that tower over them, gray against the streaks of black rain soaking through Jongin's clothes.

As Jongin lays there in the dirt, the tightly-wrung oxygen finally starting to work its way back to his head, Kyungsoo hovers over him, stroking charcoal marks across his cheeks as drops of rain run through Jongin's hair, down his beaten limbs. Blurring in and out of focus, Jongin’s vision shifts over Kyungsoo’s face, the dirt-stained skin bathed in yellow, orange reflections shining in his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, until Jongin can reach out a leaden arm and wipe them dry, his fingers limp and coming away smeared.

After what could have been seconds or hours- Jongin faded too far out of time to know, Kyungsoo finally speaks, his lips quivering and voice hoarse. "The- the fire is dying down.”

With the pressure between Jongin’s ears muted, it could sound like the crackling has grown dimmer, the storm overhead rumbling in a low, steady, thrum. Straining hard enough, Jongin can finally string the chords in his throat back together, having to think the words loudly enough in the murky depths of his mind before they can come out of his mouth whole.

"We should- keep going-" Jongin croaks out, the syllables coughed through leftover cinders. Kyungsoo rushes to help him raise his head, until Jongin can wince and swallow the acid back down. The wetted hem of Kyungsoo’s shirt has slipped off of Jongin’s mouth now, the air left uncomfortably dry, and Jongin rubs the back of his hand across his face, his eyes stinging until he blinks away the ashes. "Find- find Chanyeol-"

"Chanyeol's nearby- he's not moving," Kyungsoo assures, sniffling as he rests Jongin back down on his thighs. "But I can't feel Jongdae or- Joonmyun anymore-"

"What about Baekhyun?" Jongin asks, not missing the instant hitch in Kyungsoo’s panting, the way he darts his gaze away.

"Baekhyun's gone. Zitao, too."

Zitao- then there must have been something that Jongin missed, the name sending his mind spinning through memories of flame and smoke and roaring noise-

Breaking a sudden sob out of him, the noises halving in volume, there’s an uncomfortable pinching set off through the fabric of Kyungsoo's shorts, Jongin having to shift his head to the side where it can’t bite against his skin.

"It’s just Sehun again-" Kyungsoo grits out, his frustration bitter as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket, jostling Jongin to raise up and support his own weight on his elbows.

The rain they fell under seems to have lessened, barely dripping from the branches above for him to notice any impact, though Jongin’s crooked limbs are still buried deep in the harsh downpour and heated earth. Now, all Jongin can make out around them is the sounds of a faded nightmare, the smoke of the fire still singed orange through the thin silhouettes of trees, far enough that Jongin has to squint, but not enough that he feels like he’s asleep. He couldn’t- Jongin can still feel his pulse jumping inside his lungs- their insides collapsed so that every panged inhale only lines the surface with the smallest amount of oxygen.

“Can we try calling Joonmyun?” Jongin murmurs out, trying to reground himself. There’s no answer though, no move in Kyungsoo’s closely pressed body.

Lit up by a single ray of lightning across the forest, Jongin has one moment to look up and catch the deep frown marred across Kyungsoo's features, the straight lines of tears down his face that he mixed into brown marks.

"Are you okay? Jongin whispers, his eyes dimmed back to the darkness of night, to only a muted glow on Kyungsoo’s side profile.

"No," Kyungsoo states, Jongin's misplaced heart lurching with the answer. "The trees are still burning- still in pain. They won't stop _screaming_ at me, asking for my help _._ "

"I'm sorry," Jongin rasps out, an arm reaching across his wounded chest to find Kyungsoo’s hand.

As he clutches Jongin’s fingers closer, Kyungsoo’s voice is still wrenched in pain. "Can you walk?" he asks quietly.

The thought of standing has Jongin’s whole body arching in protest- the muscles already torn and battered, his ankle twisted cruelly out of shape where it lays, a dead weight. But he’ll have to- for Kyungsoo, for it to finally be over.

"Yeah-"

Gently, Kyungsoo helps him up, firm hands pushing on Jongin’s back to lift him from where he’s been buried, every bone creaking, every vein awakening with pulsing force, his clothes finally broken out of their stiffness. The worst is Jongin’s legs, his bad foot snagged by the hard forest floor, and it doesn’t matter how carefully Kyungsoo supports his spine as Jongin tries to balance-

“Fuck-” Jongin cries out, clinging to Kyungsoo’s shirt- to solid bark to stop himself from stumbling back under.

“I’ve got you,” Kyungsoo promises, both of them righting Jongin onto one trembling leg so he can grasp his hand around the nearest tree trunk.

Taking a moment to force thick gasps down his tight throat, Jongin can’t do anything but wince as the sharp pains burst from his ankle- each one building up, gathering momentum through the swelled flesh.

“He isn’t far,” Kyungsoo states, Jongin forcing himself to nod as he grabs the crutches from Kyungsoo, metal clashing against bruised skin.

“Let’s go,” he huffs out, his core to the tips of his limbs aching from the pain, praying for it to fade back down to just his leg.

Even with Kyungsoo’s face swallowed in darkness, his glasses glinting the only light left, Jongin can see his worry, and he fixes his eyes firmly on the obscured floor- rushing into motion too fast, empty air rushing up to his head and his nerves clashing against his skin-

“Be careful,” Kyungsoo pleads, pressing his fingers to the inside of Jongin’s arm.

Nodding breathlessly, Jongin focuses on the warmth spread from Kyungsoo’s touch, letting himself ground his balance for one more moment as the claws dug into his ankle loosen, just enough that he can raise his crutches and stagger forward.

They walk through the night with small steps, Kyungsoo slowed down and bumping into Jongin’s shoulder as Jongin twists to avoid solid roots, testing the stability of every damp spot of soil before he can sink his crutches into it.

Around them, the forest has grown still, the sounds of a simmering fire fainter, so that Jongin can hear his own laboured pants, the squelch of wet mud under their feet. But below the coated surface, Jongin knows it would be completely silent, no sounds of animals or life left besides the two of them. Here, they’re out of the gray film of smoke, and over his shoulder, up above the tall brush of leaves, Jongin can make out the trail of ashes fading to wisps before joining the darkened, unlit sky.

With a shaky hand, Jongin pushes the wet hair out of his eyes, keeping his gaze down as Kyungsoo leads them uphill, again, the strain keeping his muscles tensed.

Time moves steadily to match their pace, to match the steady thumping of Jongin’s heart against his skull and ribcage. Even though the air has thinned, no longer impossible to struggle down, Jongin’s lungs still ache, blood still swimming in his head and pooling in his ankle as they make their way forward for longer than he can keep track of, as the exhaustion wears down his bones.

For most of the quiet, dragging walk, Jongin has his stare squinted down at the ground, trying to travel up the uneven slope with as few slips as possible. But whenever he glances up, each time hoping more and more for the end to be in sight, the scene around them hasn’t changed. His vision has barely lightened, and the blurred shapes of the night are only ever separated by the outlines of trees, just straight lines jutting out through the shadows.

When Kyungsoo suddenly stops, the hand on Jongin’s arm digging in to root them in place, Jongin doesn't understand why, when the forest only looks black and endless to him. But turning back, before he can gather his breaths and ask Kyungsoo why- Kyungsoo shifts past him, the ground crinkling as he moves forward, the shadow of his back crouching slowly, tentatively, and Jongin finally sees.

Blended into the base of the tree right before them, with black clothing, black everything shrouding him as part of the landscape- it has to be Chanyeol. There’s barely a sliver of human for Jongin to latch his sight onto, but if he looks hard enough, he can find hands curled around a small body, the skin showing up as a muted gray in the night.

“Chanyeol?” As Kyungsoo leans by him, fully crouched, there doesn’t seem to be any fear in his voice or in his actions, Jongin’s fists clenched as Kyungsoo tries to coax Chanyeol out like a scared animal. “It’s only us-”

Flinching back, Chanyeol’s wide eyes suddenly flash with moonlight, bright and shocked, his breaths scattered and entire body sent into fierce trembles, a sob breaking out of him as he hides his face again.

"Come on,” Kyungsoo says gently, and with a panging heart, Jongin swallows, the air he’d been holding finally let out. “Let's go home."

Chanyeol doesn't utter a single word, recoiling on himself further as Kyungsoo reaches out to him again, a quick flicker of orange under Chanyeol's palms making Jongin dart forward to pull Kyungsoo back. But it disappears as fast as it came, Jongin left panting with a hand stretched in midair to reach for Kyungsoo's shirt.

“None of us blame you,” Kyungsoo promises.

But after everything that Jongin’s seen tonight- the flames and shouts too close to the front of his mind, wanting to climb out- he doesn’t know who else they could. In the face of a fire big enough to swallow the whole sky, that he and others jumped into to try and help, Chanyeol is here, hiding in the dark, shriveled to the size of a scared child.

“Chanyeol, you can’t stay here any longer,” Kyungsoo states, as Chanyeol is still visibly shaking. “There are firefighters heading this way-”

Sharply, Chanyeol draws in a stuttered gasp of air, the spaces between his fingers radiating red.

“Just follow us,” Kyungsoo instructs, and he stands again, retreating back to stand in front of Jongin, who has his eyes fixed on Chanyeol warily.

In slow motions, the earth rustles as Chanyeol starts to rise up, illuminated hands grappling at the ground, the tree, at anything for balance, until his unsteady legs are straightened tall and his head is hung low, refusing to meet their stares.

A brief touch strokes down Jongin’s arm, and that’s the only warning he gets before Kyungsoo steps around him, no time wasted before he starts back on the way they came with an even pace. With his own jaw set, insides tightened, Jongin watches as Chanyeol stumbles after him, shrinking out of the way so that they won’t make contact. Exhaling, Jongin cranes his neck to look out into the night, and he can barely make out Kyungsoo’s shadow, only the sounds of mismatches paces and wet leaves.

Along the dirt floor, Chanyeol leaves a trail of tiny embers, each one searing the ground in brief glints of flames before they evaporate, the sight making Jongin’s stomach curdle. He lets the distance build between him and Chanyeol, staying in place for long enough that he can just see each blaze forming ahead of him.

With a bitter huff, a shake of his heavy head, Jongin starts after his hunched form, slipping through the gaps in the forest, the mud making it harder to grapple down the mountain, patches of steam heating the sole of Jongin’s bare foot so that he has to keep on moving quickly.

It doesn’t take long before Jongin falls straight back, head-first into the stillness of the world around them, into the emptiness of the long, humid night. His mind stays focused on the length of his breaths in the cleared air, his thoughts glued to the path lit for him so that they can’t stray.

He knows it’s an even longer walk back, without remembering how far they had to come, and his whole body has grown numb, weighed down with dried sweat and a bone-deep dreariness that begs for him to rest, but Jongin has no choice but to drag his limbs through it.

The fog creeps higher as he goes along, taking over the space in front of him and blurring it a light hue of gray, one that thickens until it’s a solid wall that Jongin’s dry eyes can’t see past, stranding him. His crutches are only guided by the steepness, the sharp inclines down the hill, around harsh bark as it takes over his lungs again, stinging his revealed skin.

Whatever fire is left has dimmed low, so that it's only a muffled ripple through the branches, any shine only whitening the film but showing no color, and Jongin only presses forward, breathing shallow so it doesn't scorch his pounding chest. The acidic smell of burnt wood is too lodged in Jongin’s throat for him to gag, even when it worsens the deeper he goes into the smoke.

Far enough into the heat, when there's a yellow tinge surrounding him that Jongin prays is the other side, he stops dead- his ears straining and breath held to try and decipher the unfamiliar sounds. To the side, he swears he can hear voices- men speaking to each other above the blur, asking wordless questions, and it sparks an instant panic through Jongin's tired veins, only driving him to dig faster.

Rushing, his inhales jolted and arms trembling to keep up, Jongin stumbles through the last of the , almost falling down- his ankle snagging on bark and bursting with pain. But Jongin can see something- a brighter edge, a tall black figure that has to be Chanyeol coming closer-

Piercing deafeningly loud through the night, sirens blare from ahead, and Jongin's balance slips, staggering, his breath hitched as he barely manages to catch himself before he crashes into Chanyeol’s back.

Stilled, Chanyeol’s body is radiating too much heat, and Jongin lurches around him, panting, coughing painfully here where the air is clearer. As he squints around him, his ears throbbing from the high-pitched sound, he can see that they’ve reached the break between tree trunks, right on the raised border between the forest and a lamp-lit opening- back into the city, and he steps up to the ledge and Kyungsoo, their shoulders grazing as Jongin takes the place next to him.

The artificial lights flood over Jongin all at once, red and green flashing in his eyes as the alarms grow fainter in the distance. Blinking , he can make out the film dissipating past the short hill, into a haze over the familiar dirt carpark, next to the fire engines where a second ambulance’s doors are slammed shut- his heart seizing to try and figure out who- who’s inside- but it’s too late.

Pulling back in a flurry of dust, the roaring engine and a symphony of sirens fills the night air, Jongin watching with his heart in his throat as the ambulance races past Joonmyun's lone car on it’s way back out onto deserted streets. His stomach has twisted into suffocating knots, the words choking him, and he tries to catch Kyungsoo's gaze, desperate-

But Kyungsoo only briefly meets his panicked stare, his own shadowed under the glare of the yellow street lamps, and he doesn’t show a single flicker of fear before he turns further, to face Chanyeol, his voice perfectly even.

"Do you know how to drive?"

 

✴

 

Through the frantic pounding in his chest, the screeching of his heart trying to break out of his ribcage- Jongin can’t hear anything else- not the ear-splitting cries or the roar of the fire surrounding him, both silenced to nothing in comparison.

Crushed flat, paralyzed by broken bones, suffocated under the weight of a thousand searing knives- Jongin is burning through the entire depth of his chest, the last oxygen in his blood stabbing at every muscle it tries to reach, searching for an exit-

But everywhere he turns his head, there’s only orange- angry flames licking up to the height of the sky- the whole world swallowed by them-

Suddenly, Jongin’s panting mouth is slammed shut to his screams for help- muffled by a faceless ghost that leers terrifyingly close, blinding Jongin’s sight. He’s suffocated under damp cloth, shoving and lashing at the creature until the strength to fight it is smothered-

The lights fade in and out as Jongin’s lungs threaten to collapse inwards, and the figure gleams above him as it pushes further down, Jongin’s nails clawing at his own neck, his mind screaming in one last desperate attempt to rip his skin in two before-

With a giant gasp of cold air, Jongin jolts upright, eyes flown wide open to see-

Kyungsoo- bathed in blue shadows- knelt at his side in perfect stillness.

“I-” Jongin rushes out, but he immediately chokes on the rest of the words- his throat scratched too dry and thin as he stops and heaves in shaky breaths, the air carving its way down his starved veins, throbbing all the way down to his ankle.

“Nightmare,” Kyungsoo murmurs, and Jongin can only nod, seething from how heavy his skull feels.

“Shit- where- where’s Chanyeol?” Jongin croaks out, forcing his sore gaze to dart over the empty living room, the black TV screen, the controllers aligned on the table-

“Yixing’s looking after him, now,” Kyungsoo gently assures, a stab of guilt piercing through Jongin’s chest, right over his hammering heart.

“Joonmyun- Jongdae-” Jongin whispers, too scared to strain the chords in his throats anymore.

“They’re in hospital. Jongdae hasn't woken up yet-” Kyungsoo starts, and Jongin stomach lurches, his hands clutching at sweat-drenched, dirt-ridden hair. “Jongin- you don't need to worry about them,” Kyungsoo insists. “I spoke to Joonmyun and he says they'll both be alright.” Jongin can only choke back a shudder, still sick to the pit of his stomach, still on the verge of crying out.

“You should try and sleep more. Please,” Kyungsoo begs, his voice dipped in volume.

Swallowing between rasps, the raw ache making him wince, Jongin doesn’t want anything more than to escape from everything, for the next time that he wakes up to be the end of this horrible dream.

His eyes shut on their own as Jongin lowers back down onto the groaning leather, gravity stifling his rattled body and his ankle flaring red-hot. Once he’s buried into the couch, with the furry blanket pulled up with him, one that Jongin doesn’t remember from the last time he snapped awake, he slowly lets his breaths smooth over. Against the resistance, Jongin draws each one in deeper, his throat burning with each inhale and wheezing with each exhale, until he can finally feel the pressure ebb from his ribs.

But in the silence of the room, of Kyungsoo’s steady presence, Jongin’s pulse still ticks painfully loud. Each lingering beat drags against the weariness buried deep in his bones, making his vision spot, and it’s impossible for him to start drifting away before he’s yanked back.

Wincing in pain, Jongin remembers this from before- from a moment that feels too close, when the deafening sounds of the clock wouldn’t leave him alone. He remembers watching the seconds hand crawled up to each minute, every strike too slow, too infrequent to break apart the tension between him and Chanyeol and the whole room between them.

Now, he can still hear it beating, out of rhythm with his heart rate and jabbing into his skull, one pang jarring hard enough that Jongin bites back a sob, and he makes another hopeless wish that it could stop.

With sleep too far away from him, Jongin lets out a huff of air and turns his aching body to the side. But the shift brings an unexpected wave of calmness, liquid warmth flooding through his body as he can feel his fringe being swept back, and Jongin’s pulse stops in its broken tracks.

“You have a fever,” Kyungsoo explains simply.

His hands are soft as they graze across Jongin’s face, a cold fabric dabbed across his forehead next. Frozen, Jongin has to remind himself to take a breath, his heart realigning just in time before his eyes flutter open.

He’s met by Kyungsoo’s gentle stare, more vulnerable without his glasses, and Jongin can only make out the worry creasing his eyebrows because of how closely he’s leaning in. The sun must have started to rise, the overhead lights all switched off, and the two of them have been left in the dim hues of the morning, where Kyungsoo’s features are pale and pretty as he hovers above him.

Without speaking, Jongin reaches for the towel laid across his head, his fingers guiding Kyungsoo’s down to his temple, feeling the warmth radiate between them.

Whatever time they were losing before must have finally found its way back, and the world is moving slowly around them- quiet, still, as Kyungsoo cools the fire under Jongin’s skin. His touches are feather-light, and Jongin’s gaze rests on the curve of Kyungsoo’s closed lips, perfectly clear.

It feels like days have separated them, too long since the last time he and Kyungsoo were this close, and Jongin’s nerves can all unfurl at once. The unease that he fell asleep to still lingers through him, but it only surges in small pushes, weak enough for Jongin to feel whole.

“What happened?” Jongin asks- his voice barely above a murmur.

“What do you remember?” Kyungsoo murmurs, stroking a stray thumb down Jongin’s cheek.

Too much- Jongin thinks, the images of fire flashing past him without permission- of the whole forest shrouded in smoke, sirens piercing, his lungs squeezing from the memory of air being blocked out-

Gasping in quickly, Jongin feels Kyungsoo’s other hand grab onto his shoulder, and Jongin has to fight to catch his breath back before it disappears.

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo rushes out, and Jongin nods in a flurry, still blinking away the bright orange figures imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

With his heart pounding in his tight chest, Jongin lets his cheek sink back into the pillow, and the hours afterwards start to trickle back into his mind, all faded colors, muffled noises. Jongin’s insides churn with them as he relives each moment and how they bled into the next one, unbearably slow and drawn out.

He thought it would never end- the long drive home in complete silence, as the bleak river crawled alongside them, Jongin being wound tight enough to snap, keeping his stare focused only on the glowing skyscrapers rippling in the water- and then coming home to a ringing house, the rooms haunted with guilt as Jongin sat across from Chanyeol, mindlessly snapping at the XBOX controller that Kyungsoo stuck in his hands before he left, Jongin’s vision glazing over the bright motions of Battleground across the television. Every time he looked over, like he does now, at the couch darkened in shadows, Chanyeol was staring down at the floor instead of the screen. The clock behind him ticked and ticks endlessly, everything left wrong and Kyungsoo too far away to help, busy finishing the half-cooked dinner that Joonmyun left behind, that Jongin wouldn’t have been able to stomach even if he’d stayed up late enough.

The last thing that he can remember is straining to stay awake like he was meant to. With his head darting up every few moments after he’d let it slip, gasping as the game blurred into view again, Jongin must have fought off the heaviness of his exhaustion countless times, until eventually, he lost.

“When did I fall asleep?” Jongin asks, his throat stinging.

“About two hours ago,” Kyungsoo says as he checks over his shoulder at the time. Following, Jongin has to squint until he can see the seconds hand reaching out to 6.30AM, only minutes away. “I took Chanyeol to his room, and Yixing and I stayed with him until he settled down.” Clearing his splintered throat, Jongin nods, the sound of fabric shifting on his ear. “And then I managed to call Joonmyun, as well.”

“What else did he say?” Jongin whispers, already scared of the answer, his heart curling up tight.

“They took him to _Sahmyook_ hospital _,_ in _Dongdaemun_ ,” Kyungsoo explains, his gaze soft, motions soothing. “He woke up in the emergency room, and- he doesn’t feel well, but he isn’t injured. The doctor only wants him to stay for the night, so that they can monitor him. But…” Kyungsoo pauses, his expression torn, and Jongin clutches his fist into the blanket.

“But what?” he asks.

“Jongdae-” Quietly, Kyungsoo swallows, avoiding Jongin’s urgent stare. “He’s still unconscious, and Joonmyun hasn’t been allowed to see him. Jongdae’s family are with him, but-” he sighs before he opens his weary eyes again, locking with Jongin’s own, wide and terrified. “The nurses said that it’s serious. Really serious.”

“What-” Jongin’s voice hitches, rasps, his insides lurching forward- “How-”

“Sh, it’s okay, though,” Kyungsoo soothes. “They said that he would be okay.”

“But Kyungsoo-”

“Everything will be fine,” he says firmly, and Jongin can only stare helplessly, his blood pounding, breaths still racing past each other, stabbing into his ankle- “The hospital will look after Jongdae, and he’ll be back soon,” Kyungsoo assures, a new determination set in his voice. “He just needs time, but he will recover.”

“Why-” Jongin strangles out, unable to finish as Kyungsoo cups his face close-

“It had to happen. The storm had to end,” Kyungsoo states, his words too cryptic for Jongin to hold onto, his fingers latched onto Kyungsoo’s. “Now everything can return to normal, like none of this ever happened. I promise.”

“But what do you mean?” Jongin begs quietly, his throat hitching on the question, and Kyungsoo’s grip on him tightens, cold and clammy against Jongin’s burning skin. His gaze is unwavering, glistening in the dim light, everything frozen in Jongin’s chest with no air left between them.

“Just trust me,” Kyungsoo says simply, after a moment of pure stillness.

Left completely hollow, all he can do is nod, his body weak. With Kyungsoo’s hand coming around to support his head, Jongin doesn’t have the words or the strength left to panic or argue, all of it stolen from him in one exhale.

“I can tell you more soon, but you need to rest.”

In the silence of the dawn, Jongin lets himself be smoothed down, his limbs crumpling until he lays flat on his back and Kyungsoo is floating above him.

“If anything happens to you, or if you see something that you shouldn’t, please tell me,” Kyungsoo insists, the weight of his stare burning into Jongin’s half-lidded eyes.

“Okay,” Jongin mouths back, a lump caught in his tight throat.

With a heavy sigh, one wrung with exhaustion or relief- Jongin can’t tell, Kyungsoo hangs his head down, the distance between them so little that their noses almost bump.

“Have you slept?” Jongin whispers against his cheek, his vision glazing over the fan of Kyungsoo’s lashes.

“I haven’t had time,” Kyungsoo states hoarsely.

“Please sleep,” Jongin murmurs, fingers reached out to comfort him, tracing blearily down Kyungsoo’s soft jawline until they slip off.

“You need to be looked after,” Kyungsoo says, easily catching Jongin’s hand in the middle.

“So do you,” he breathes out, before his eyes drift shut seamlessly.

“I’ll sleep after you,” Kyungsoo promises, lowering Jongin’s palm down to his covered chest.

Everything is calmed in his body, quiet except for his even breaths and the painless whistle of air into his lungs. The clock plays a steady beat, giving a quiet rhythm for his pulse to match, and the rest of the world is stored away, muffled under layers and layers of soft cotton.

Warmer now, Kyungsoo places the towel across the centre of his forehead, lifting the last pressure behind his temples, and then Jongin loses track of touch, letting himself sink the whole way down.

The next time Jongin wakes up, there's no fight for air, no heart-jarring moment of impact.

Instead, Jongin lifts out of the black fog lazily, slowly, with no nightmare to drag him underneath.

Rolling his body over- before a faint protest from near his ankle makes him stop and shift onto his back again, Jongin is so nestled in warmth, his body so buried in comfort that he could easily drift back to sleep.

The events of last night roll back in quietly, without him pulling or pushing, all of them clear images projected in his mind, of white flames and orange smoke, of the ambulance pulling away, of Kyungsoo's gentle face hovered above his.

With a croaked groan, a shift of his neck, Jongin scrunches up his face before finally peeking his eyes open. It's dark around him, even as he blinks to see faded traces of sun filtering into the space, casting a grey hue over the white wall of what must be Kyungsoo's bedroom. Jongin is alone though, the other side of the bed neatly made next to him and the air completely silent.

Taking a moment to yawn, to rub the bleary spots from his vision, Jongin notes the pillows positioned under his ankle, patting down the brown blanket that’s been draped over his body.

A small blush creeps up his neck at seeing how Kyungsoo must have pulled him into a new T-shirt, and when Jongin checks under the covers, he’s wearing striped pyjama bottoms, too. Quickly clearing his throat, wincing over the sore patch lodged in his Adam’s apple, Jongin lies back, jitters dancing through his stomach at the thought.

To fight the growing smile off his lips, Jongin reaches over to the bedside table to grab his flashing phone. It must have been Kyungsoo that plugged it in to charge, since Jongin can’t remember the last time he saw it, and as soon as he switches on his lock screen, the notifications flood in.

At the top, Jongin’s chest lurches when he sees that it's 4:21 in the afternoon, and he has to shake his head to believe it. Shooting upright, his ankle panging, Jongin’s heart races from knowing that he must have slept the entire day away. But as soon as he pauses to breathe, Jongin can see the sun shining bright through the gaps in the curtains, its rays of light painted across the wooden floor to reach the edge of Kyungsoo’s side of the bed, perfectly still. For the first time in too long, Jongin’s mind feels fully rested, his body heavy without any of the usual soreness, while his injury fades out easily, and maybe, just this once, it's what Jongin needed.

Shifting back against the pillow, Jongin scrolls through his phone with squinted eyes, ignoring the texts and missed calls from Sehun and instead skipping to the messages from his mother. One from last night tells him to stay inside until the weather warning pass, and then this morning, she asks Jongin to call her whenever he's ready to be picked up. But until he’s found and thanked Kyungsoo, who’s probably downstairs, Jongin doesn’t know when he’ll have to leave, silently hoping it’s not too soon.

As he starts to clear his voicemail list next, all left by Sehun until 3PM when he assumes Kyungsoo must have dealt with it, Jongin suddenly has to freeze. There’s one single message left by Hyukjae- 2 minutes and 5 seconds long- and Jongin’s stomach is sent into a nauseous spiral- pulse thumping against his ribs.

The instant thought of deleting it crosses his mind, but with his insides twisting into a hundred knots, Jongin knows that it would only make things worse. He owes this to Hyukjae after everything, and sitting up straighter, the base of his spine twinging, Jongin holds his breath and clutches his phone tight to his ear.  

“- hey, Jongin, it’s me.” The connection is slightly static, but Hyukjae’s voice is still clear enough to fray the ends of Jongin’s nerves. “Hope the storm didn’t keep you up too late. So, are you avoiding me on purpose, or are you seriously still asleep at midday?” There’s a deep huff on the other end, and Jongin still doesn’t let himself exhale, his nails tugging at a loose tuft in the blanket. “Anyway, your mom called. She told me about your ankle. Four weeks off, huh?” There’s another pause, but Hyukjae doesn’t sound angry, and Jongin’s motions smooth over. “Would’ve been great if you’d told me sooner, but hey, what am I meant to expect from you, you damn martyr. Okay okay- my bad, I’m not trying to have a go at you, alright? I just- wanted to apologise. If I’d known that you were in pain, I wouldn’t have... yeah. Look, you get what I mean,” Hyukjae rushes, and Jongin huffs out a breath. This is the only time Hyukjae’s ever tried to apologize, but Jongin knows he doesn’t deserve this. “Call me back when you get this, and I think we can work out something for you while you’re taking time off. We’ll go from there, okay?”

It feels bittersweet, and Jongin lowers his phone slowly, sucking in a long breath. There’s no way he could call back now, not when he has no idea what he wants to do or what’s happening with the others. His thoughts are confused, all contradicting and leading to dead ends, and the only person he wants to help him sort through them is Kyungsoo, even if he won’t understand all the ballet talk. But right now, there are other things that they have to focus on, even when the future has Jongin’s heart feeling numb.

Stretching his arms above his head, groaning with the release deep in his muscles, Jongin ambles as he eases off the bed and undresses himself. Next to the outfit he packed, his old clothes have been left in a neat pile on the bed, no trace of ashes or dirt on his white shirt, and the lingering warmth of roses is a bit too familiar as he pulls them on and takes his crutches in hand.

Out in the hallway, the whole house is as quiet as the room, with only the muffled noises of the television and the smells of something cheesy wafting from the staircase. The walls are bathed in sunlight from the balcony, offering a clear view of the blue skies, not a single cloud in sight above the sprawled city. The air here is light and easy to breathe, and now, Jongin can start to see what Kyungsoo was talking about, about things being more normal.

Going down the steps carefully, the crutches anchoring his balance, Jongin can feel his stomach start to wake up and grumble. It’s been awhile since he last ate, but this is the first time he hasn’t felt full to the brim with unease, Jongin thinks as he makes his way down onto the open floor.

A calm scene is laid out in front of him, one that Jongin stops to look over, locking eyes with Kyungsoo who flashes a brief smile from across the couches. He and Chanyeol are sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, leant over a _janggi_ board with _Descendants of the Sun_ reruns droning in the background that Kyungsoo doesn't even bother to pause as he hops up and walks over to Jongin.

"You're finally awake," Kyungsoo clips, giving Jongin a judging look as he passes by him. He heads straight for the kitchen while Jongin is left to loiter back by the doorframe. "Are you hungry?” Kyungsoo asks over his shoulder, already pouring him a glass of water. “I kept your lunch warm."

Shyly, Jongin murmurs his thanks, his voice still tender. As Kyungsoo waltzes out with a thermal bowl of spaghetti- Jongin’s favourite comfort food minus the kimchi, Jongin hops after him to the couches. He used to beg Kyungsoo to make this dish every day, and with his mouth watering, Jongin sits eagerly in front of their half-finished game as Kyungsoo swaps over his crutches for chopsticks.

"Yixing went to pick Joonmyun up," Kyungsoo states, taking his own seat by himself. "They should be home soon."

"And Jongdae?" Jongin asks before swallowing water down his raspy throat.

"Jongdae is fine. He’s still there." The answer is robotic, Kyungsoo's tone cutting the conversation short, and Jongin only just catches the stare that he flicks him, a small warning that has Jongin's stare moving to Chanyeol.

If it's possible, Chanyeol looks like a worse wreck than the day before, as if he got no rest at all. Jongin has dingy memories under artificial lights- of an agonized expression drooped low, and dark eyes concealed under unruly hair. Now, Chanyeol looks the same, but with puffed cheeks, and the skin of his neck has turned red and blotchy. He moves in skittish jolts as he pushes his piece forward on the board, avoiding Jongin's gaze, and from the frayed edges running up the sleeves of his hoodie, the bitter smell hidden underneath the delicious food, Jongin doesn't think he changed his clothes from the night before. He can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Chanyeol, even against the wave of nausea that comes from reminding himself of why his black clothing is singed up to the elbow.

"Did you get any sleep?" Jongin asks as he sets his glass down. The question is directed at either of them, but he only expects Kyungsoo to answer.

"I've slept enough," Kyungsoo assures, and Jongin notes how the words are softened slightly.

With nothing else to say, another quick glance shared with Kyungsoo that Jongin takes as enough assurance that they’re fine, he draws back on himself, ducking down to start on his food. It's silent between the three of them, awkwardly empty even with the television on and the slide of wooden discs, or the clink of metal chopsticks as Jongin eats as quietly as he can.

Before long, his mind wanders back to what Kyungsoo said last night, and Jongin tries to piece together the fuzzy sentences in his memory, wondering how much information he’s missing. But if Kyungsoo keeps his word, then he only has to wait until they’re alone so that he can ask. Maybe once Joonmyun comes back, there’ll be a chance to.

"Check," Kyungsoo states suddenly, Jongin’s attention pulled back mid-bite.

Kyungsoo’s red army has advanced over half of the board, and his neat collection of blue pieces has already doubled in number since the last time Jongin peered over. He can’t help but be reminded of all those times he would challenge Kyungsoo to an online game of _janggi_ , or _baduk_ , or any traditional game where he already knew that Kyungsoo would win. Just for him, though, Jongin didn’t mind losing again.

A small smile crept on his lips at the memory, Jongin tries to catch Kyungsoo’s eye during Chanyeol’s turn, to give him a knowing look before the last moves he needs to end the game.

But Kyungsoo looks distracted, a frown etched onto his face as he faces straight ahead. Following it, Jongin doesn't know what to look at- the clock that's ticking at half past four now, or the rest of the stilled house.

Sharply, Kyungsoo cuts the dialogue on the screen mid-sentence and stands up.

“I’ll be right back,” he clips, avoiding Jongin’s confused stare.

Marching straight around them, Jongin and Chanyeol both turn around to watch him start towards the corridor in brisk steps. A loud bang sounds from the front of the house, Jongin’s heart jumping into his throat, and he isn't expecting it to be Sehun's panicked voice that yells out asking if anyone's home.

From this angle, with Kyungsoo half-hidden around the unlit corner, Jongin has to lean over the back of the couch, his ankle twinging to hear Sehun squeak to a stop on the wooden floor, to see him smacking loudly into Kyungsoo’s chest-

"You're here- you're all here, thank god-" Sehun rushes out, his voice distant as he strains to meet Jongin's eyes over Kyungsoo’s head, the way blocked by an outstretched arm. "I saw the news- all the stuff on the fire and I thought-"

“Sehun, listen to me-” Pushing past Kyungsoo, Sehun steps into view better, still panting as he looks around the room and Kyungsoo only manages to grab his wrist just as Sehun’s glance flashes, his body freezing and face falling-

"Chanyeol..."

Instantly, Chanyeol flinches down, tensing up on himself, and everyone stays still.

There's barely a moment of silence, of tension that lurches at Jongin's stomach, before Sehun speaks again, breathing out in shock.

"What _happened_?"

Slowly, Kyungsoo tugs him back into the shadow of the hallway, to face away from the room, and the realization washes over Sehun before Kyungsoo has to say anything. Jongin can see the exact moment it does from how his mouth twists in pain, how he drops his gaze to the floor, blinking rapidly and shaking his head to himself.

"Everyone's fine, now. That's all that matters," Kyungsoo mutters quietly to him.

"It _was_ you guys-" Sehun whispers, hurt expression raised up to Jongin, who darts away, his breath held just to hear the next words hitching in Sehun's throat, the waiver stretched through them. "- and the people taken to hospital-"

"Joonmyun and Jongdae," Kyungsoo answers, before taking a step back from Sehun, hand dropped from his arm. "Joonmyun was discharged today, and they're both fine."

"But- why-" Sehun almost laughs to himself, the sound so choked that Jongin has to squeeze his eyes shut, his appetite ruined with guilt. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"Sehun, we were busy at the time," Kyungsoo states curtly.

"I was so _worried._ I just-" Sehun falters, his quiet voice cracking, trembling. In the uncomfortable pause, Jongin hunches further in on himself so that Sehun doesn't call him out next. "I just wanted to know."

Sehun doesn't say anything else, the room plunged in silence except for scattered breaths- Sehun's, Chanyeol's that Jongin can match to the shaking of the body in the corner of his vision.

"Okay," Sehun sighs out weakly, repeating it to himself again and again. "It's fine- fine- I get it- I'll go."

"Sehun, you don't have to leave-"

"No- no, I do," Sehun cuts back, the word gasped and rushed, Jongin snapping up to see his friend pacing the edge of the room, struggling to speak steadily- "I shouldn't be interrupting you- you guys are fine, here- it's my bad, I'm sorry-"

"Sehun-" Kyungsoo warns, unable to catch Sehun's arm again as Sehun starts to retreat in hurried steps.

"I have to go anyway- homework and stuff-" he pants out over his shoulder- walking away- backwards and then stumbling out of sight- shoes scuffing in his haste to get out- and Jongin has Sehun’s name caught in his throat, his back straightened in the half-hearted attempt to stop him.

"I'm sorry-" are the last words Jongin can hear from Sehun before the front door is swung open, Kyungsoo's last yell useless and echoing down the empty corridor.

Mind running blank, insides swirling, Jongin blinks at the darkened space until Kyungsoo hurries back to them, his face filled with just as much despair as Jongin is filled with.

"This is dangerous," Kyungsoo says urgently, stare boring into Jongin and making his breath catch in his lungs. "Sehun can't be left alone right now, not when he's in this state-"

"Al-alright, I'll go after him-"

" _No_."

The word is almost shouted, gruff and sudden enough that Jongin screeches to a stop- his body raised out of the seat and all the adrenaline crashing back down on him.

With wide eyes, Jongin darts over to Chanyeol to see him glaring straight into him- _fuming_ with a rage that has his whole body heaving and his face burnt red, and Jongin feels his blood run cold, his heart shriveling to nothing-

As Chanyeol shoots up, Jongin jerks to the furthest side, hitting his ankle on the table leg and hissing behind gritted teeth at the sharp flare of pain. But Chanyeol doesn't lunge at him- he doesn't even spare Jongin another foul look as he storms out of the room, his steps pounding and raced across the floor- and Jongin sucks in a tight gasp at seeing the flickers of orange attached to the soles of his bare feet.

"What the- shit, Kyungsoo-"

"It's okay," Kyungsoo assures, immediately hurried to Jongin's side the second Chanyeol's disappeared from the room. "He needs to be with Sehun right now."

"But- Sehun can’t- how can we trust _that_ around him?" Jongin splutters out, a panic hitching at his words and making his gestures frantic.

"You don't have to worry about either of them," Kyungsoo insists, sitting down in the space next to him, their knees grazing. "This is how it should happen."

"What do you _mean_?" Jongin pleads, their gazes locked together and his throat burning.

"I’m not sure yet," Kyungsoo admits quietly. “We’ll see soon, though.” His eyes are nothing but sincere, and Jongin can finally calm himself enough to breathe out, his pace slowed to match Kyungsoo’s.

“He… he scares me,” Jongin admits, sinking back as something uncomfortable is left to stir in his chest.

“I know,” Kyungsoo says gently, and Jongin makes a face, that fiery glare flashing by him again. “He doesn’t mean to, though. He’s just jealous.”

“Huh? Of me?” Jongin asks with a frown. At Kyungsoo’s disbelieving stare, Jongin can’t help but huff out a confused laugh. “Why?”

“Because Chanyeol’s in love with Sehun,” Kyungsoo states as a matter of fact, and Jongin’s mouth drops open.

“Wait- _what-_ ”

A million questions flare in Jongin’s mind- like how- when- does Sehun feel the same- “But-”

But with Kyungsoo’s eyes fixed on him heavily, expectantly, Jongin has to slam his thoughts to a stop, shaking his head to try and clear it.

“I’m not… I don’t like Sehun, though,” he insists, maybe a bit too forceful.

“I know,” Kyungsoo repeats. His tone is unreadable now, but for a brief second, Kyungsoo glances away, and Jongin can hear him quietly clearing his throat.

“Finish your lunch,” Kyungsoo orders.

Wordlessly, Jongin takes his chopsticks to stir at his bowl, his throat too twisted to swallow food down, yet. He would have never guessed that Chanyeol felt _anything_ towards his friend, but Jongin hasn’t talked to Sehun properly in such a long time, so how would he have known? Unsettled to the pit of his stomach, Jongin doesn’t know how to react- no hunger to fill so that he’s just left picking apart the strands.

Without warning, a warm hand presses itself to Jongin's forehead, instantly making Jongin's motions stop.

"Do you feel sick today?" Kyungsoo asks him, Jongin's wide eyes glued to his bowl.

"I- no, I-I feel fine," Jongin assures, his heart leaping as Kyungsoo brushes his overly-long fringe to the side.

"Your fever hasn’t come back," Kyungsoo hums, though Jongin's cheeks are searing red, and if Kyungsoo wasn't drawing his hand back, now, Jongin's sure he could have felt the heat crawling up.

Even as Kyungsoo sits back, his weight stays pressed up to Jongin's thigh, no room left between them to calm his racing pulse. With a muffled cough, Jongin needs to distract himself, quickly raising his bowl to start stuffing food past the sore lump in his throat.

Here in the daytime, where the sunlight makes everything painfully clear, Jongin has nowhere to hide except by shrinking in on himself. If he pauses and thinks back to last night, and how closely Kyungsoo leant towards him, over him- in the dark and in the fire- then Jongin can’t believe himself. He can’t grasp what kind of panic overtook his brain so that he could hold Kyungsoo’s hand back, or even start leaning in to meet him halfway-

Choking on too big a mouthful, the present Jongin can only splutter and cower in his seat, too nervous to make eye contact with Kyungsoo as he hands him water to chug down.

“Thanks,” Jongin murmurs hoarsely, letting Kyungsoo place his glass down. The urge to cough has faded back, but Jongin can feel that his blush has climbed all the way up to the roots of his scalp, and when Kyungsoo suddenly pushes a bit closer, Jongin jerks the other way, praying that he didn’t noticed.

“You need a shower,” Kyungsoo states after he’s leant back, cutting the silence as bluntly as ever. “Your hair smells burnt.”

“O-oh,” Jongin stammers out, already writhing in enough embarrassment to get through the fact that Kyungsoo just said he stinks. “Sure.”

“If you want, I can help you, again,” Kyungsoo offers, making Jongin’s eyes bulge.

The last thing he needs it to be reminded of how Kyungsoo had to guide him through the bathroom at his parent’s house, helping him out of his sweatpants and anchoring him so that Jongin didn’t slip on any of the tiles. Jongin doesn’t know how he can handle that after all the feelings he’s almost given away, but of course, he nods stiffly.

“It might have to wait until after dinner,” Kyungsoo continues. “I thought it was more important that you sleep this morning.”

“Yeah- yeah, that’s okay. Uh- about that-” Exhaling, Jongin tries to steady his voice enough to get through what he needs to say, even though this subject isn’t any easier on his heart. “I… Kyungsoo, I need to thank you."

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks, and it's so awkward to say out loud, Jongin's stare fixed down and his blood pounding in his ears.

"For last night. For…” Sucking in a gulp of air, his next words are barely a murmur. “For looking after me.”

Kyungsoo is silent at first, and Jongin holds onto his shallow breaths, wishing so badly that he could see Kyungsoo’s expression, but not being brave enough to look.

“Well, you shouldn’t thank me for that. One of us had to,” Kyungsoo finally mutters, his tone dark.

“Huh?”

Peeking over tentatively, Jongin finds that Kyungsoo is suddenly scowling at him, angry enough to make Jongin jerk back in shock. “You were too busy trying to get yourself killed to care,” Kyungsoo snaps.

“What- I wasn’t-”

“I told you not to follow me and you didn’t listen,” Kyungsoo cuts back with. “You should have been at home, where it was _safe_ -”

“But I wanted to help-”

“ _Help?_ ” he exclaims, Jongin helpless as Kyungsoo’s glare only grows wilder. “You limped straight into a fire when there were already enough injured people. How is that supposed to help!?”

“Are you actually mad at me?” Jongin asks, gaping.

“Of course I am!” Kyungsoo insists. “I couldn’t yell at you when you were sick, but now I will!”

The sound bursting out of him, Jongin can’t help but laugh loudly, unable to stop even when Kyungsoo thumps him on the back of the head.

“I’m serious! You’re lucky that nothing bad happened to you, otherwise I’d have killed you myself.”

“But Kyungsoo, I’m fine!” Jongin whines, his best pout tilted towards Kyungsoo.

“Well, that was only luck,” Kyungsoo says stubbornly, his scowl fixed back in place.

“And because of you,” Jongin points out, trying to catch Kyungsoo’s gaze before he lowers it, but without luck. Instead, Jongin leans in to talk to the red tinge on the tip of Kyungsoo’s ear while he still has the courage. “So, I do need to thank you.”

When Kyungsoo stays silent, Jongin nudges into his side playfully, biting on his lower lip to stop himself from grinning too hard. This is what Jongin was used to before Kyungsoo left, the bickering and laughing, the jabs that never hurt and the shy smiles Jongin could hide his thumping heart behind.

Hopefully, they can get back to that, too. Back to normal.

“You need to be more careful,” Kyungsoo cuts in with, the bite gone from his voice.

“I will,” Jongin promises.

“Please listen to me more, too,” Kyungsoo says, glancing at him from behind his glasses, and Jongin nods, feeling warmed through to the centre of his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he murmurs gently.

“Well, I don’t accept your apology.”

“Huh? But-” Jongin splutters out, his mind sent reeling a second time from Kyungsoo’s blunt answer.

“Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“Where are you going?” Jongin complains, tugging back Kyungsoo’s wrist before he can stand up properly.

“I have to greet Yixing and Joonmyun,” Kyungsoo states with a frown at him.

“But can’t you accept my thanks first?” Jongin pleads, and Kyungsoo begrudgingly rolls his eyes.

“Fine. You’re welcome,” he grumbles out.

“Good,” Jongin states, leaning back with a satisfied sigh.

Just before Kyungsoo turns away, the corners of his mouth quirk up briefly, Jongin catching the small smirk just in time before Kyungsoo moves off the couch.

“I’m still angry at you, though,” he warns sharply, just before he disappears down the corridor.

With a stretch of his arms, his own smile lingering a moment more, Jongin has to let it slide off at the thought of what comes next. He can hear voices trail from the entryway, faded and sombre, and setting his food down on the glass table with a huff of air, Jongin rises up onto one foot as the others step into the room.

Whatever Jongin was expecting- this sight tugs his heart more, seeing the weariness and stilted movements they walk in with.

Dressed in all black, Yixing is shedding off a cap and sunglasses, revealing the worry lines drawn into his pale skin. Joonmyun hardly looks better, wearing loose fitting clothes for the first time that Jongin’s seen, with wet handprints on the thighs of his gray trackpants. Even from here, Jongin can make out the sweat dripping from his hairline to his neck.

Weakly, Joonmyun nods over at Jongin, who does the same, bowing his head low in consolation before he sits back down.

“- Chanyeol just went outside with Sehun-” is the last part that Jongin catches of Kyungsoo’s muffled conversation, and Joonmyun smiles faintly.

“It’s good to see that you’re all safe,” Joonmyun murmurs quietly, looking between him and Jongin.

“Are you alright? What did the doctor say?” Kyungsoo asks, him and Yixing helping Joonmyun to shrug off his hoodie. Underneath, his white T-shirt is splattered with transparent wet spots, and his next words are thin with exhaustion.

“She said that my lungs are fine. There was nothing in the blood tests, either...” Joonmyun strains out, inching forward slowly.

“Good,” Kyungsoo states, following behind.

Pain crosses over Joonmyun’s features as he takes another step, a hand reaching for his lower back. “They- they saw me lose a lot of fluid, so I have to stay hydrated, and we all need to be careful with our throats,” he says.

As Jongin swallows thickly, he watches Yixing separate himself from Joonmyun, floating behind Jongin as silent as a whisper before he sinks onto the empty couch. His movements lagging, Yixing rests his elbows onto his knees, his cheeks onto his knuckles, and he closes his bloodshot eyes to sit perfectly still, transforming into a white marble statue.

“How is Jongdae?” Kyungsoo asks then, the question loaded with weight.

“Jongdae…” Exhaling heavily, Joonmyun has a hand clutched to the nearest couch, Jongin turning back with bated breath. From this close, Jongin can see the irritated skin around Joonmyun’s mouth, hear the thin wheeze woven into his voice, and it aches at Jongin’s chest.

“He’s conscious, now. He gave the nurses a good shock when he woke up this afternoon- and all the monitors were set off,” Joonmyun answers shakily. “They told me that his heart stabilized as soon as he was awake, but his condition is still bad. He’s- his lungs… can’t work on their own, yet.” On instinct, Jongin clutches his hands tightly together, his throat constricting in a sharp burst of discomfort. “He can’t speak… he can’t eat. They- they have him plugged up to all sorts of wires and machines at the moment…“

Blinking quickly, Joonmyun inhales, his next words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them out. “He still needs brain scans and X-rays- there’s more tests and- they said it may take weeks before he can breathe normally, again. They’ve contacted a specialist on lightning injuries, but he’ll realize that Jongdae’s symptoms aren’t normal, and- after that, I don’t know what will happen, or how his powers will affect him-” Gasping in, Joonmyun’s fingers are white with how hard he’s gripping the couch, matching Jongin’s, and Kyungsoo places a hand on Joonmyun’s back.

“It- it could be years of treatment,” Joonmyun whispers out, his voice more raspy with every pant. “And there’s so much damage, like the burns on his legs-“

“But at least he’s alive,” Kyungsoo states firmly, strongly, stopping him. “If you hadn’t reached Jongdae, then he wouldn’t be.”

For a moment, Joonmyun is perfectly still, his jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the ceiling, and Jongin can see his expression wince as his Adam’s apple dips.

“Yes, that’s what the doctor said,” Joonmyun finally says, lowering his head with a defeated sigh. “His family, though- they were… Horrified.”

“Did you speak to them?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Only briefly, I wanted them to have their space- and there was nothing I could say to comfort them… Not in a time like this,“ Joonmyun murmurs softly.

“I understand,” Kyungsoo assures, and Jongin does too, his stomach churning even worse when Kyungsoo suddenly looks straight over at him.

“We can’t tell Chanyeol about any of this,” Kyungsoo orders firmly, his words taking up the whole room as he stares at each of them in turn. “He only knows that Jongdae will stay in hospital for longer, but he can’t hear about how serious this is.”

“Yes, of course,” Joonmyun murmurs, before hesitating over his next sentence.

“It would all be too much for him,” Kyungsoo states, filling in the gap.

“Kyungsoo- do you know-” Joonmyun rushes out, eyes suddenly boring into him. “Did Baekhyun get home safely?”

“Baekhyun?”

“Yes, I can’t get a hold of him,” Joonmyun says with urgence. “And last night, Jongdae said there was someone following them. Maybe that’s-”

“He was gone at the start of the fire,” Kyungsoo cuts in with.

“Was he injured at all?”

“No. He’s fine,” Kyungsoo assures, his face blank, almost impatient, and Joonmyun hunches over in relief.

“Okay, I’m glad,” Joonmyun sighs out, before carefully collecting his breath. “Before I left the hospital, I… I went to see Jongdae, just for a brief second and he was trying to tell me something. He- he grabbed me with the smallest bit of strength and his eyes were wide open. He looked panicked, or maybe scared- but no words were coming out.”

“I see,” Kyungsoo says darkly, a frown crossing his features.

“He could have been worried about Baekhyun. I’ll have to tell Jongdae that he’s fine the next time I visit him,” Joonmyun says quietly.

“We’ll all come with you,” Kyungsoo states, and he meets Jongin’s stare, who nods slightly.

“Thank you. I’m sure he would appreciate that,“ Joonmyun agrees with a weak smile, slowly straightening back up. “We’ll try again tomorrow. For now, I hope that we can all keep him in our prayers so that he recovers faster.”

Even though it’s been years since Jongin had faith in any sort of god, and the last time that he tried to pray, his hopes for Juilliard went unheard, Jongin makes a silent promise to himself that he will, tonight. For Jongdae.

“You both should rest,” Kyungsoo instructs, gently starting to guide Joonmyun away from the couch. “Are either of you hungry?”

“No, but I need to drink,” Joonmyun says, his voice faded and airy as he lets himself be led towards the kitchen, weight resting on Kyungsoo’s body.

Beside Jongin, Yixing rises to stand as well, keeping his gaze down until he rejoins Joonmyun and takes the place on his other side.

Watching them walk out of the room, a sudden trickle of panic starts crawling up Jongin’s throat, his voice calling out before he can swallow it back down.

“Kyungsoo?” he rushes out, and Kyungsoo immediately stops to look back at him.

Without hesitating, he marches back over with brisk steps, the others moving further away to leave the two of them alone.

“What’s wrong?” Kyungsoo presses, coming to sit down next to Jongin as concerned eyes search his expression.

But Jongin can’t explain why his heart feels twisted inside-out, worry gnawing at his insides and making his breaths fall shorter.

“I- what do we do now?” he begs to know.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Kyungsoo says quietly, a warm palm placed over Jongin’s curled fist to make it unfurl. From the sureness in Kyungsoo’s face, Jongin lets himself sigh out, and Kyungsoo’s fingers brush up his hand. “With time, Jongdae will heal. Everything will heal.”

“Are you sure?” Jongin checks, even with the pressure in his chest already relieved by Kyungsoo’s soothing touch.

And before Kyungsoo can answer, his eyes are pulled away from Jongin to stare down the empty hallway, drawn by something that Jongin can’t hear no matter how hard he tries to listen.

“That’s interesting...” Kyungsoo says cryptically, after a moment of only muffled whispers from the room next to them. “Something’s changed.”

“What? What is it?” Jongin insists, trying to lock onto Kyungsoo’s gaze.

“No, this is better,” Kyungsoo murmurs to himself as he turns back.

“Kyungsoo, I don’t-”

“Just trust me,” Kyungsoo states, the words a shiver of a memory up Jongin’s spine, enough to steal his breath away for a second time.

With one last squeeze, Kyungsoo lets go of his hold on him and rises out of his seat, Jongin only sinking back to watch him go. In a smooth motion, fast enough that Jongin barely catches it, Kyungsoo swipes a wooden piece off of the forgotten board game on his way back around the couches.

There’s a hint of a smile lifting the corner of Kyungsoo’s lips, a secret that he offers to Jongin before he turns away, headed towards the kitchen. Looking back at the game, just as the front door clicks open and the volume of voices double, Jongin sees that Kyungsoo’s stolen the last of Chanyeol’s guards and won the match.

In lazy steps, Sehun and Chanyeol wander back down the main corridor shoulder to shoulder, Sehun talking indistinctly as Chanyeol nods in response. Just in time, Sehun glances up to make eye contact with Jongin, his friend pausing and giving Jongin a sheepish shrug before Chanyeol nudges him off to the side.

With his hand placed on Sehun’s lower back, Chanyeol’s stare is kept on nothing else as he follows Sehun up the staircase, the two of them clearly at ease with one another as Sehun’s chuckle rings out, and Jongin thinks that it’s time that things were better.

 

≈

 

By the time that everyone’s had a rest and wandered back down in pairs, that Jongin’s helped Kyungsoo lay out a simple dinner and the table’s been cleared away, the day has already come to an end.

Now, the thin streets of Gangnam are lit in yellow hues, any rays of the setting sun only able to peek over the raised walls lining the sidewalk, and a mild breeze runs along Jongin’s skin as he and Sehun make their way alongside them.

Tonight, Sehun will be stuck doing the work for another full day of uni, while Jongin will head back to stay the night with Kyungsoo, and this was his only chance to catch his friend alone. Just before, Jongin had to insist on being the first one at Sehun’s side, not missing the anger that flicked past Chanyeol’s face, or the way Kyungsoo had to discreetly pull him back. With ten minutes until Sehun’s bus, they walk slowly on the route to the stop, Jongin pacing himself on his crutches because there’s no reason to hurry. He’d made sure that they left Joonmyun’s early, so that he’d be able to say everything he needed to tell Sehun.

But now that they’re here, the two of them trapped in an expectant silence ever since they stepped out of the house, Jongin doesn’t know where to start. His apology feels like an uncomfortable weight on his tongue, too many different thoughts arguing and trying to find an excuse out of it, even though Jongin knows that he doesn’t deserve one.

“Hey, you know what this reminds me of?” Sehun suddenly says, Jongin huffing out a sigh of relief from being broken out of his own head.

“What?” he asks, and Sehun’s staring straight ahead, a big grin on his face.

“That time in 11th grade, where you twisted your ankle really badly.”

“Oh no,” Jongin groans out, shaking his head as Sehun lets out a snort. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“How long were you on crutches? Like, a month?” Sehun asks in amusement.

“Three weeks,” Jongin corrects. “It was my fault for being an idiot, anyway.”

“I mean…” Sehun’s struggling to hold back the giggles, now, but his tone is still trying to stay serious. ”It wasn’t the best _grand jete_ I’ve ever seen, but you tried.”

“It hurt like hell,” Jongin deadpans, and then Sehun bursts out into a full, nerdy laugh, one that makes Jongin feel a little more at ease.

“Dude, do you remember how after that, we’d always miss the first bus because of how slow you were-”

“Yeah, and Taemin would never wait for me,” Jongin complains, shaking his head at the memory. “That asshole.”

“And then we’d have to walk for ages just to get to the other stop?”

“God, that was so annoying,” Jongin whinges, but when he sees Sehun’s joking expression suddenly falter, Jongin wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“I didn’t really mind it that much,” Sehun admits weakly, his gaze darted down to stare at the ground, and Jongin looks away, too, the guilt sent swirling through his veins again.

For a long moment, one that burns at Jongin’s stomach, both of them are quiet as they continue down the narrow path. With his body on edge, Jongin keeps his mouth shut, too aware of his leaden ankle and how the colors are dimming around them, overtaken in a dark gray haze while the sky is still a bright blue, until finally, Sehun speaks again.

“A lot of stuff has changed since then, huh?”

“Uh…” Jongin hesitates, unsure of what else to say. “I-I guess, yeah.”

“I mean, since we finished school. It feels like it was so long ago- and it kinda was, but- not really… ” Sehun pauses briefly, and Jongin prays that his friend carries on, just so that he doesn’t have to talk, yet.

“I dunno what I’m even trying to say, man. It’s like- everything’s been- _crazy_ , lately, like time’s been racing by us. Well, literally, it has been.” All Jongin can give Sehun is a tired nod, because he knows the feeling, how none of them have had a second to catch their breath, and even now, he’s still not convinced that they’re allowed to. “I’m only on my second semester of uni,” Sehun continues. “But I’m already so behind because of all the stuff that’s been going on over the holidays- my brain’s just not in it and I don’t even know if I _want_ to do this course, and just-”

As Sehun lets out a frustrated sigh, Jongin wonders if he should give his friend an awkward pat on the back, or a light nudge in the arm. Instead, he only tightens his stiff hold on his crutches, listening as closely as he can, their pace slowed even further down than before.

“I feel like things made more sense back in school, like, the answers were so much more… More- clear,” Sehun finally settles for, before he gives a half-hearted shrug. “I guess I’ve just been missing it lately. Y’know... You, me, and Taemin, just messing around. Sometimes, I wish I could go back.”

In the silence that follows, Jongin swallows thickly, his heart panging from deep within his chest. To him, everything from middle school onwards only ever felt like a blur of training and studying, every day dragging by as Jongin fought against the increasing currents without accepting anyone’s help. But there are good memories buried further down, he realizes- of wasted lunchtimes and Taemin’s dirty jokes, of late-night library stays and video games at Sehun’s, of the rare days that their dance practices lined up and the three of them would stay back late so that Jongin could try and show off his progress to Taemin. That’s when Jongin sprained his ankle for the first time, and he remembers how his friends stayed with him in the studio throughout the worst of the pain.

For so many years, Jongin spent every day with Sehun and Taemin, and even if he was sick of their company half of the time, there were no other friends who would have stuck around that long, and still try to get through to him no matter how long he ignores them. With his eyes fixed on the ground, Jongin can feel the emotion clogging up his throat, making it impossible to speak.

“But hey- I mean, I’m sure that stuff’s really different for you, anyway,” Sehun quickly jumps back in with, trying to bat off the heavy atmosphere so obviously that Jongin almost chokes out a laugh. “Like, I bet you’re nailing your jumps now, and you’ll be back in the studio in no time, right? And- and dude, you’ve got an awesome superpower, too, like…” Sehun gestures wildly, Jongin watching on with half a smile on his face. “Like, holy crap! That’s so cool! And, I gotta tell you that I’m really happy for you and Kyungsoo and-”

“Wait, no-” Jongin blurts out, cutting Sehun’s ramble short, so that Sehun stops to look at him with wide eyes. “No, no, it- it’s not like that- with Kyungsoo,” Jongin insists shakily, feeling his skin burn red-hot and his pulse speeding up against his control.

“Uh, are you sure?” Sehun checks, and Jongin is speechless for one second, his mouth left gaping open.

“I... Yeah- yes,” he insists, his voice instantly hardening when he clears his throbbing throat. “We aren’t- together,” he states.

Without waiting for Sehun’s reaction, Jongin starts to march back down the street, desperate to cover up the fact that he just froze in his tracks and to make sure Sehun doesn’t see his heated cheeks, even when there’s no daylight left around them.

“- huh, so Soo still hasn’t done anything?” Sehun murmurs to himself from behind Jongin. “After all of that trouble he went to-”

Jongin’s heart seizing up, it takes every flared nerve in his body for him to not round on Sehun and beg to know what he’s talking about. But with his held breath wrung out, the rest pushed down as Jongin convinces himself he must have heard it wrong- Jongin has to even his pace back out so that they’re walking beside each other, again, praying that Sehun changes the subject, now.

“But hold on... You two have ‘some’, right?" Sehun tries, and Jongin’s pulse stutters painfully.

With his blood still pounding, his muscles tensed like he’s tiptoeing over broken glass, Jongin doesn’t know if he should brush off the question or say nothing- hesitating over which answer will make things worse.

“Hey, it’s okay, man,” Sehun laughs out. “Kyungsoo definitely feels the same way. I-I mean, y’know, I’m just guessing he does. Like- he mentions you all the time and- yeah… That’s just my opinion, though.”

Cautiously, Jongin looks up to check Sehun’s expression, but Sehun’s just smiling back at him genuinely, any hurt shrouded behind the night’s shadows.

“Are you... okay with it?” Jongin has to ask, lightly so that he doesn’t pierce through anything.

“Duh, why wouldn’t I be?” Sehun asks in confusion. At Jongin’s long stare, Sehun’s face finally caves. “ _Oh_ . No that stuffs all- all fine. All good.” It’s a hesitant moment of relief, but at Sehun’s insistent nod, all of Jongin’s stiffness unwinds, though he’s almost taken back by how easily Sehun forgot about his long-term crush on him. “I’m really happy for you guys, legit. I mean- for when you _do_ get together.”

“If we do,” Jongin corrects, though he can’t help the small smile that blooms on his face at the thought.

“Yeah, right,” Sehun chuckles out, and Jongin ducks down in embarrassment, his whole chest warmed through by how much better this feels. “Dude, I could tell straight away with Kyungsoo, that things with him were- well, different for you.”

“They are,” Jongin confesses quietly, making Sehun huff out a laugh.

“You know, you never told me that you were gay, too,” Sehun says, though there’s no accusation behind it. “I know it can be kinda hard, being like that on your own... You could have always talked to me about it, if you needed to.”

But Jongin knows he wouldn’t have. It’s been a reflex from the start of their friendship, ever since Taemin pointed out the shy kid from beginning ballet who would always follow Jongin around their elementary school. Jongin has always keep Sehun at an arm’s length, trying not to hurt his friend’s feelings, except now, he can see that he only did the opposite, probably more times than he can count.

Here in the evening air, where the colours have bled out and on the main road close ahead, car lights stream past them, Jongin doesn’t know when he’ll ever be able to let himself be this honest, again. It fills his lungs with bitterness, the words having to climb over the barricade in his chest so that Jongin can finally say what he should have said to Sehun ages ago.

“Hey, Sehun…” He can feel Sehun’s eyes turning to him, and Jongin sucks in a deep breath, letting the rest spill over. “I’m sorry… I feel- I know that I’ve been a pretty crappy friend to you.”

“What? Oh, man, you don’t have to apologize,” Sehun insists, almost too quickly, Jongin’s jaw still locked tight as they turn down the corner, everything louder with the rush of cars passing by them. “You’ve always had your own stuff going on, I get that.”

“But you’ve always been there for me,” Jongin states, cutting Sehun off before he protests. “- and I never did the same thing back.”

“You don’t have to, seriously,” Sehun waves off, and Jongin stares down at their shadows, now stretched long across the yellow-lit pavement. “Stop being so harsh on yourself, man, you’re fine.”

With the end of their walk in sight, Jongin grimaces to himself, letting his head hang for one second before he rights himself.

“I want to be a better friend from now on,” he states with finality. “You should be able to talk to me about stuff, too.”

“Well… thanks, dude,” Sehun murmurs after a moment, his voice sunken lower. “Uh-” he chuckles airily. “I don’t know where I’d start, though.”

Half out of curiosity, and half out of the worry that’s been simmering in Jongin’s gut from what happened earlier, he suggests, “What about with Chanyeol?”

It might be a trick of the street lamps, but Jongin swears he catches something painful flicker over Sehun’s face, just for one second before he purses his thin lips together.

“Chanyeol… Oh man, that’s...” Sehun exhales, the sound heavy, and Jongin’s sure that he saw right.

Patiently, he waits for Sehun to continue, and when Sehun does, it’s more quietly than ever. “Was the fire scary?”

Swallowing out of habit, the word catching on the raw spot in his throat, Jongin can see that Sehun’s expression is already braced for the answer. “Terrifying,” he admits.

“Yeah… I have no idea what to do to help anyone,” Sehun sighs out. “I mean- there’s nothing I _can_ do, is there?”

With a gentle shake of his head, Jongin doesn’t know, either.

“I don’t even want to go home, now!” Sehun exclaims with sudden frustration, even though the empty bus stop is a few metres away. “But I’ve got classes from 8 to 3 again, plus a mountain of readings to do, and- how am I meant to pretend that things are fine right now?”

Stopping suddenly when Sehun does, Jongin has to look around them, checking past the glass panes of the shelter just to be safe. Rows of headlights flash down the road, illuminating half of Sehun’s distressed face, but there are no buses in sight, yet.

“To be honest-” Sehun mutters, Jongin turning back to find his friend’s head hung low. “I- I know that I shouldn’t- because it isn’t Chanyeol’s fault, but... I feel scared to be alone with him, now.”

“You need to be careful,” Jongin says with complete seriousness. “Make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“He wouldn’t,” Sehun’s quick to defend. “I know he wouldn’t- not on purpose, I mean. Just-” With a long groan, Sehun trudges through the last few steps, slumping down onto the small, wooden bench, Jongin a second behind. “Careful, that side’s dirty,” Sehun warn, barely looking up.

It’s an awkward shuffle for Jongin to slide into what little space is left that isn’t marked by a dark stain, while also supporting himself on his crutches. But with barely any room between his and Sehun’s sides, Jongin lowers himself down warily, relieved when he’s seated and he can place his foot back onto solid concrete, all the tension in his cramped calf released.

“This whole thing seriously-” Sehun struggles out. “It makes everything so much harder than it already was…” Rubbing his eyes, Sehun lets out another dejected puff of air. “I just need to talk it all through, I guess- because my brain keeps going in the same circles.”

“Let’s get together and talk about it, then,” Jongin states.

With a frown, Sehun seems to think about his offer for a short moment. “Yeah, yeah okay, that’s cool,” he muses. “I’ve got Thursdays off- but I promised that I’d spend the day with Chanyeol... Maybe we could meet up on Wednesday night? Or- or whatever, y’know-”

“Yeah, just come over,” Jongin agrees, making Sehun turn to him with surprise. “I don’t know if Kyungsoo will be there or not, but I’ll let you know bef.”

“Oh, that’s all good. Kyungsoo knows most of it, anyway.” Humming, Sehun leans back against the clear window, grinning to himself. “It’s been a while since we hung out, huh? Are we gonna watch more of your _Pororo_ disks?”

“ _No_ , you can pick something else,” Jongin clips, and Sehun just chuckles, his crinkled eyes looking up at the navy, cloudless sky.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says simply, and Jongin smiles, too, letting himself relax and the conversation rest.

The night air is smooth and calm between them, the silence fitting in seamlessly as Jongin watches the endless cars drive past them.

“452?” Jongin asks a minute later, reading the white numbers growing larger from down the street, above the rest of the stark glares.

“Yep, that would be me,” Sehun sighs out, already standing. With a long yawn, Sehun stretches his arms above his head and adjusts the straps of his backpack. “Hey, thanks for keeping me company, man,” he says back to Jongin.

“It’s alright,” Jongin says, stalling before he has to get up. “Just not looking forward to the walk back,” he grumbles, with a gesture at the dead weight attached to his leg.

“I mean, I’d go with you, but that’d be pretty counterproductive,” Sehun jokes, and he holds out an arm for Jongin to take.

With only a second of hesitation, a laugh rushed out, Jongin shifts to the edge of the bench, one hand pushing his body up onto his crutches and the other grabbing firmly at Sehun’s wrist.

The sudden shift in brightness has Jongin shutting his eyes as he feels himself pulled the rest of the way up. Blinking away the black spots, Jongin’s vision adjusts just as he senses that the warm air has stilled, his ears numbed to all of the noises he was surrounded by a second ago, and then he gasps in sharply.

“Welcome back,” Kyungsoo states- Jongin whipping around and almost stumbling because _Kyungsoo_ , who has his back turned to them, is calmly leant over the sink in Joonmyun’s white kitchen.

“Woah, what just happened?” Sehun breathes out in awe, and Jongin’s mind is reeling- his eyes roaming over the room before looking straight through the open bar and locking on Joonmyun’s shocked face.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kyungsoo deadpans, glass clinking to Jongin’s side, and Jongin breaks away to stare at the cups being lined up along the drying rack.

“Uh- we... teleported?" Sehun tries. 

"Exactly."

"Oh my god," Sehun laughs out to Jongin, who's still panting, spinning. "Nice one, man."

But Jongin can't smile back at him- too filled with the overwhelming sense that something's gone wrong. His stomach twisted in knots, Jongin desperately wants to see Kyungsoo's expression, to hear something that will calm down his jolted heart, except Kyungsoo won't even spare them a glance, none of his assurance from earlier left.

“How did you two do that?” Joonmyun wonders, his voice drifting in from behind Jongin.

“Sehun’s powers are gone,” Kyungsoo says curtly, the running water shut off, again. "So Jongin's will work on him, now."

“Woah, wait a second- did you just say I had powers?” Sehun asks, half in shock and in excitement as Kyungsoo finally turns to them, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“For the brief period between when you ran out of here and when you came back, today, yes,” Kyungsoo explains, flicking his stare between them.

"Wait so-" Muttering to himself, Sehun seems to be working out the math, and Kyungsoo's gaze lingers over Jongin, giving no answers to the hundreds of questions in Jongin's eyes. “Can I get them back, again? I wanna see-”

“You can’t," Kyungsoo clips. "They don’t exist here, anymore."

“Kyungsoo, can you please explain to us what's happening?” Joonmyun asks, the thinly-veiled worry in his voice making Jongin's hold on his crutches tighten.

With a short exhale, Kyungsoo grabs a dish cloth and steps past them, having to brush by Jongin on his way out, barely giving him a second to draw air into his shrunken lungs. Silently, they all follow after, Jongin trailing behind Joonmyun's rushed pace, back to the living room where Yixing is huddled, watching on warily.

“There's been a change in the world, a restoration of the balance," Kyungsoo starts cryptically, only stopping to bend over and wipe down the glass coffee table. "When Zitao took Baekhyun, all of the bad energy followed after."

“What do you mean when Zitao  _took_ Baekhyun?" Joonmyun immediately latches onto, hands gripping onto the back of the couch to stare at Kyungsoo. "Where did they go?”

Frozen by Joonmyun's side, Jongin already understands from the way Kyungsoo doesn't react that the answer is bad, a sense of panic starting to rise up his body like acid.

“You said that he went home,” Joonmyun reasons, but Kyungsoo is running circles over the same spot, avoiding eye contact, and Jongin can't swallow past the heartbeat lodged in his throat- "Were you telling the truth?"

“I never said those words,” Kyungsoo says darkly.

“Kyungsoo- where are they?" Joonmyun asks, the urgency torn through his soft voice, and his body collapses further when Kyungsoo shakes his head.

“Another time, another universe. It doesn’t matter.”

“What- of _course_ this matters- how do we contact them?” Joonmyun insists.

“We can't," Kyungsoo states, rising back up to cut him a blank stare. "They aren’t here, anymore.”

The impact is delayed, but when Kyungsoo looks at him, next, it hits Jongin with the force of a tidal wave, lurching his insides forward and making him clamber for a grip on the ground.

“But... that can’t be true,” Joonmyun murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. "How could this have happened?"

"The same way that Zitao came here with his father when he first brought the powers. Except now, it's the opposite," Kyungsoo answers simply. 

"How can we bring them back-"

"We can't."

" _Kyungsoo_ -"

"This needed to happen," he snaps impatiently. "Otherwise our powers would have stayed trapped in us forever. Now, they can leave peacefully," As Kyungsoo says this, a soft breath hitches- and Jongin whips his head over to see Yixing's still face, a picture of panic carved into his white skin. "- isn't this what you wanted, Joonmyun?"

“But Kyungsoo, this isn’t okay-" Joonmyun whispers helplessly, his voice losing strength, fingers wrung in the leather, and Jongin has to look away, unable to think clearly about what all of this means except that it makes him feel sick. "Think of Baekhyun's parents- their _son_ is missing-"

"Well, we can't do anything," Kyungsoo states. "It's finished, and it can't be changed."

"What are we supposed to tell them-"

"We aren't going to say anything, because they won't believe us," Kyungsoo threatens.

"But... this isn't right," Joonmyun strains out. "Please try and be more compassionate-"

"I'm only telling you the truth, this has nothing to do with compassion-" Kyungsoo shoots back, the words venomous.

"Where are you going?" Joonmyun pants out, and Jongin's head jerks up to see Kyungsoo storming out of the room.

"There's nothing else I have to say to you, so good night," he calls out, his steps up the staircase thudding in his rush to leave.

"Wait- Kyung-" Faltering suddenly, Joonmyun doubles over, his coughing harsh enough to make Jongin wince, barely catching the last moment before Kyungsoo disappears. 

"Uh- do you need some water?" Sehun tries to ask Joonmyun, as he gasps in high-pitched breaths.

With a weak shake of his head, Joonmyun holds his lower back to straighten up, still heaving in air. Limping around the couch to the space next to  Yixing, Joonmyun sinks back into his seat stiffly, and Yixing leans in immediately. In muted whispers that brush over his ears, Jongin is only able to catch the desperation in their tones, Joonmyun's "I don't know, I don't know-", both of their faces cast in shadows. 

Left alone, Jongin and Sehun's eyes meet, both of them at a complete loss.

"I-I should go talk to him," Jongin murmurs, and Sehun nods slowly, taking a worried glance down at the others.

"Yeah, I guess I should wait around until the next bus," he sighs out, before shrugging. "Or hey, you could just teleport me home and save me the fare?"

Despite himself, Jongin lets out a tiny laugh, the atmosphere way too heavy for him to hold it in. It doesn't reach his heart, though. 

"Hey, are we still on for Wednesday?" Sehun checks, just before Jongin turns to leave.

"Yeah, Wednesday," Jongin agrees, and Sehun gives him a thumbs up. 

Making his way over to the staircase, each step unsure and begging not to draw any attention, Jongin stops to take one last look over the room. Joonmyun peers up at him with a phone in his hands, his expression distressed and words inaudible. Quickly, Jongin darts his gaze away, guilt riddling his chest.

With the clock ticking beside him, the weight in his limbs starts to lessen as Jongin takes the stairs up, and once he's out of everyone's view, he finally lets himself inhale deeply and expand his lungs. His sigh out is still shakey, cut short as he lands on the top step and sees Kyungsoo coming down the lit hallway.

Stepping up to where Jongin's stilled, Kyungsoo calmly offers him the gray towel draped over his arm.

"Let's go," he says.

"What- now?" Jongin asks in disbelief, still keeping his voice hushed even though the area is empty except for the two of them, all the doors he can see down the corridor closed.

"I want you to sleep early, tonight," Kyungsoo explains.

"But..." At Jongin's slight hesitation, Kyungsoo's gaze softens, becoming infinitely more tender as he crosses the last distance between them, close enough that he has to tilt his head up to meet Jongin's eyes.

"I promise that everything will be okay," he murmurs, and after everything, Jongin's never wanted to believe Kyungsoo so much, so he will, nodding numbly.

With a soft smile gracing his lips, Kyungsoo reaches out to take Jongin's hand in his, the warm touch washing down the last of Jongin's worries before he lets Kyungsoo lead the way.

 

 

a/n: i can't apologize enough for how late this chapter was, but i've honestly poured my heart and soul into it . there are so many elements that i wouldn't have thought of if i'd rushed the writing, and i hope you understand and enjoy the final product <3 there's only two chapters left and i'll be writing them as quickly as i can. i don't like giving deadlines anymore bacause i feel like they jinx me, haha, but the rest of this fic will be smooth sailing to write. thank you so so much to everyone who has stuck with this fic, i hope you've all been well, and just know that the best is yet to come <3 (yes that does mean kaisoo getting together)

[Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaisoochateau)| [Tumblr tag](http://kaisoochateau.tumblr.com/tagged/powers%20au) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/kaisoochateau)


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